


Happy Together

by jo7787



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Emotional, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Smut, Romance, Sad, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo7787/pseuds/jo7787
Summary: Lone Wanderer Valerie frees Charon from his contract but pays a heavy price in doing so. Alone in the wasteland again, Valerie travels West and eventually becomes Courier Six of New Vegas fame. Meanwhile, Charon and his brethren must deal with growing violence against ghouls and mutants in the Capital Wasteland as Arthur Maxson rises to power. After years away, Valerie returns to to D.C. a new woman when a desperate radio broadcast makes its way across the States.Neither can do it alone.
Relationships: Charon (Fallout)/Female Lone Wanderer, Craig Boone/Female Lone Wanderer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Today, the Greatest Day

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been a long time. Recently, I’ve wondered about the period between events of Fallout 3 & 4, and what that would look like. How would our beloved characters be doing? I was the same age as the Lone Wanderer when FO3 came out and being 15 years older now, I’d like that to reflect in the characters & content as well. 
> 
> Plus, I just really, REALLY miss them all. 
> 
> If well received, I plan on merging this story with my “Black Betty” story, considering I still have a fair amount of it written out and would like to follow through. If not, then consider this story my catharsis. 
> 
> (Also, my old writing was just so incredibly cringe that I’d like to rectify it haha)
> 
> <3

Had someone asked what would be on Valerie’s ‘If She Ever Left Vault 101’ bingo card, she never would have guessed ‘Bring the Fearsome, Mysterious Remnants of the United States Government Down to Its Knees Before Beheading Them Entirely.’ Yet, there she was alongside Brotherhood soldier Sarah Lyons and her pride of elite brethren as their vertibird touched down on a landing pad, the massive Enclave Mobile Platform about a half mile away. And if anyone had ever thought to ask Valerie who would accompany her for most of the wild journey across the Capital Wasteland over the past few months, she may have guessed a mangy dog or perhaps a fellow vault dweller but then again, she'd always been a loner Instead, she got a near silent, almost seven foot tall vicious tank of a ghoul with a binding contract that guaranteed unyielding, unwavering loyalty.

Charon’s heavy arm wrapped around Valerie’s shoulder as the orbital strike rained missiles down on the Enclave platform in a glorious show of firepower. She looked up at him, ignoring the lump in her throat when he laughed for the first time in her presence. Sure, she’d get a snort of amusement or a low chuckle out of him here and there, but never a true, hearty laugh like she heard in that moment. She wanted to keep it forever. Their fellow Brotherhood soldiers joined in with cheers and hollers, unaware of the momentous exchange between Valerie & Charon.

He glanced down at her with a rarer smile before he said, “We did it.”

 _We. He said we, not you_ , thought Valerie with a smile of her own. Those were now commonplace on her part. Charon told her once that she smiled too much, a few hours after she bought his contract. It was one of the first things he ever said to her unprompted and at the time it cut her deeply. She expected him to be happy, even a bit grateful, damn it, after the contract exchanged hands. Charon, however, was too far entrenched in a tomb of his own making after several lifetimes worth of mistreatment, a fortified wall none could ever penetrate. Until he helped Valerie attach the Virgo II lunar landing dish to the very top of the decaying Washington monument, the entirety of Downtown D.C. below them as the sun broke over the horizon. As Valerie flipped the power switch, sending music and news back into the wasteland, a crack appeared in the battered ghoul’s facade.

 _“All right. You can smile now if you must,”_ Charon had said with only a hint of annoyance after staring out into the distance.

A few weeks later, when finding her wayward father didn't prove the warm reunion he likely expected, Charon quietly admitted the unexpected to a tearful Valerie.

_"Do you remember that morning on the Washington Monument? I wanted to smile then, but I could not remember how. You did it for both of us."_

The cracks continued, day after day, week after week. They became friends. Inklings of tenderness and affection appeared, unexpected but welcomed from both sides. A pat on the shoulder, a shrill whistle if one made a good shot. A hand in the dark. Two despondent souls, bound together until otherwise, fighting against the impossible. It was this same contract, written over two centuries ago on a seemingly harmless piece of vellum that loomed over Valerie like a dark, nuclear cloud.

“Is this better than tossing drunks and junkies out on their fuckin’ ass for a hundred years straight?” Valerie shouted over the roar of the missiles, nudging her ghoul’s ribs.

Charon turned to her, a rough hand gently resting on her shoulder as he leaned down and cupped her bloody cheek. “Val, there is nowhere else I would rather be than right here...with you.”

_Val. Not Smoothskin. Not even Valerie. Val._

Valerie jumped onto him, her legs wrapped around his waist as she cheered, the final missiles slamming into the Enclave platform with furious vengeance. The act earned her a second, heartier laugh and it was the best sound she ever heard in all of her young life.

* * *

When Charon first saw Valerie, in all of her five foot nothing, dark-haired glory, it never occurred to him that she was _the_ Vault Girl of GNR fame. It all sounded like bullshit propaganda, honestly, whenever Three Dog would drawl on the radio waves about yet another Miss One-Oh-One adventure. It was enough to make him roll his eyes at the mere mention of her. She wasn’t real, she was a fantasy for poor, miserable bastards with nothing else to live for.

He was that poor, miserable bastard with nothing to live for.

Granted, at first he believed Valerie suicidal. Foolhardy and desperate in close quarter combat. Sloppy with grenades. Out in open wasteland though, she was a sight to behold. The first time she sent a bullet into a raider's left eye from nearly a mile away, his jaw dropped subconsciously, doubly so when she expressed disappointment in her shot. She had initially aimed for the right eye. That wasn't the moment he fell for her, however, but it was close.

It was in Rivet City's marketplace, when a drunkard spat in Charon's direction and Valerie’s fist slammed into the fool's jaw before Charon himself could react. And her fist kept flying as she straddled the man's unconscious body, his head slamming into the metal floor like a gong with every hit. Valerie ordered Charon to stand back as she was arrested, one of two times she uttered true commands, forcing the choke chains of his contract to tighten around his throat. Charon sat outside of her cell that evening as she nursed her broken hand in proud silence.

 _"No one will ever treat you like shit, not while I'm alive,"_ she told him after paying her hefty bail, nearly wiping their entire savings.

Valerie had previously given Charon commands minutes after purchasing his contract. They stood outside the doors of Underworld as she looked over the illegible words of his contract.

 _"What does this entail, exactly?"_ she asked him, holding up that damned paper.

_"I am yours to command in all combat scenarios and most others at my discretion. Physical violence of any kind against my person violates the contract's terms and ends with your death. By my hand."_

_"Well, we don't have to worry about that particular clause but feel free to shoot me in the face if I'm ever as bad as Ahzrukhal."_ She stared at him with scrutiny for a moment before she said, _"Look at me. Raise your left hand. Now your right. Turn around. Shoot the skeleton."_

As expected, Charon followed through with every command and ended with him blowing off the skeleton's arm in a flurry of dust and shrapnel. Valerie tilted her head with a curious smirk before dropping his contract in the fire barrel beside them. As he stared in stunned silence while the contract burned to ash she asked, _"Are you a free man now?"_

Of course, the contract itself was more symbolic than literal, and she would have to write up another were she to sell him.

_“What if I had killed you for that? Are you fucking insane?”_

Valerie had shrugged in response. The memory made Charon grin. Even then, she did not fear him when most couldn’t stand the mere sight of him without soiling themselves.

_"I mean, probably. We'll figure something out. Ready to go?"_

_We_. It was always _We_. _Theirs_. _Ours_.

Charon escorted Valerie through the Tenpenny Tower lobby, her thin arm looped through his as usual. Roy Phillips, the tower's newest owner courtesy of Valerie herself tipped his head at the pair as Charon punched the elevator's call button.

"Welcome home, you two. Nice job out there. Fuck the Enclave and their xenophobic bullshit," Roy croaked.

"Thanks for that ghoul mask. Wouldn't have made it otherwise," she admitted with a grin as the elevator doors closed.

Valerie pressed her face into Charon's chest, a more recent occurrence in their partnership, as she let out a heavy sigh. He found his hand at the back of her neck, fingers twisted between long strands of soft, ebony hair. So soft. Nearly everything about her was soft.

"God, you smell good," she murmured against his armor as Charon snorted with amusement.

”You really need to stop calling me God,” he deadpanned and Valerie laughed aloud. “Also a shower.”

“You always know just what to say to a girl.”

“It is my third best feature,” he replied. Valerie laughed again.

“And what, praytell, would the first two be?” she asked, lifting a brow.

Charon shrugged as the elevator doors opened. “Homicide and assault.”

Valerie grabbed his hand and pulled him towards their room, walking backwards to look up at him. “See, if you asked me, I’d say...those baby blues of yours _then_ homicide.”

“Assault is fourth?” he asked, trying in vain to ignore her compliment.

 ** _There is nothing there, stop lying to yourself_** , a voice in his mind thought...but Charon hoped it wasn’t true.

“Yeah, I throw fists _way_ better than you.”

Charon yanked Valerie forward, pulling her over his good shoulder with a growl. Her squeal of delight and surprise twisted into a knot at the pit of his stomach. “Keep telling yourself that, Val. We both know I am the Golden Gloves champion.”

“You. Fucking. Wish!” she replied, swatting his backside with each word.

He shouldered the door open and dropped Valerie on the bed before setting their belongings on the tile floor beside the table. His combat knife was still embedded upright into the table’s furthest corner, forgotten before their mission at Adams Air Force base but thankfully unneeded. It was almost a cakewalk. His armor followed in a matching heap by his boots as he groaned with relief at a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders.

“Did that count as physical violence on my part?” Valerie called out, her own armor a haphazard pile beside the bed. All that remained was a thin, sheer white t-shirt and black, torn up canvas pants.

 _ **Very** sheer_, Charon noted, tucking the mental image away for his time in the shower.

“Not when it does not do any damage whatsoever, Champ.”

He sat at the table with a smirk and moved Valerie’s beloved sniper rifle in front of him. He leaned back, reaching for the cleaning supplies on a shelf behind him before settling into the chair with a groan. His knees deserved a break. At least a week’s worth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Valerie sit up and stare at him in silence. A few minutes into his cleaning ritual, her rifle already disassembled, Charon glanced up to see a pale faced Valerie standing beside him.

“Can I help you?” Charon asked with feigned annoyance. “Or would you rather your rifle jam next time we are knee deep in shit? I am good with either, considering I always pick up your slack--”

Valerie grabbed his forearm and forced him to face her. Her chest rose and fell with staggered, uneven breaths. For a moment, Charon thought she had taken ill and was about to ask if she was all right when she leaned down and pressed her very soft mouth against his own. It felt like fire and ice all at once, surging through his veins and ruined skin. He wondered where to rest his hands, wondered if she even wanted him to touch her in a manner unbefitting to friends, but damn it all to Hell, he would try his fucking damndest to make her sigh as she often did in his thoughts late at night.

She pulled away and managed a smile. “...Was that okay?”

Charon loved Valerie with every fiber of his being. How could he tell her? He decided to show her instead and he pulled Valerie into his lap, his mouth nearly crushing hers. It was everything he fantasized. Burning, passionate, almost desperate desire and longing for something, anything, to make sense in the brutal world they lived in. One hand drifted beneath her shirt over her breasts while the fingers of his other hand at her hip dug into her skin. She groaned in his ear as his mouth found a tender spot at her throat before she pressed her hands against his chest, pushing herself off his lap as she landed on the floor with a dull thud. Her eyes were wet.

_I fucked up._

“Val...I thought--” Charon began as she stood up on shaking legs.

She held out a hand to silence him, a wordless command, and Charon straightened in his seat as he swallowed hard. The chains had returned. Valerie searched around the room as she hugged herself. She looked sick as her eyes fell on the table beside him.

 ** _She made a mistake_ ,** the voice sneered, Charon's blood running cold. _Fuck_.

“Charon,” Valerie cried, “I want you to know--” and she looked away, her fist balled up in what seemed like agony. “--I'm doing this...because I love you.”

She said it. She loved him. It was true. Despite the invisible chains tight at his throat, he managed a smile. It was easy.

It was short lived.

"Charon," Valerie commanded for the final time, her voice strong and hard, "I order you to slit my throat."

Those damned chains squeezed and twisted until his vision blurred. He fought them back, two hundred years worth of conditioning and abuse, but he would fight them. Anything to save her life, the only one he ever loved, would ever love. Was ever capable of loving.

 _PROTECT HER,_ one half of his warped mind screamed.

 ** _Obey her command_** , the darker voice whispered. **_Kill. Her._**

He would fail.

Charon gripped onto the table’s edge, crushing it in his palm as he whispered, "Take it back, Val..."

Valerie cried silently. Charon could count on one hand how many times he’d witnessed Valerie cry. He despised it. Little else made him feel so weak and powerless.

"No," she whispered in reply and she pointed to the combat knife wedged deep into the wooden table. “Slit my throat. It’s an order...your final one.”

His hand reached out of its own volition and wrapped around the knife’s handle so tightly his knuckles appeared white against the stark red scars.

 ** _Stand up, Charon_** , whispered the dark voice, low and deep.

"Rescind the order, Valerie!" he bellowed, his voice shaking the walls of the hotel suite.

It seemed like his arms and legs moved all on their own as he rose from his seat and threw the table aside, shattering it into splinters. Valerie flinched hard at the act. Almost every thought in his mind was screaming the exact opposite of his actions. Bile churned in his gut as his ears rang, as if a grenade blew up in his face. He would’ve welcomed it at that moment.

"I love you, remember that," she whimpered as she backed against the stupid fucking bobblehead stand beside the door. The figurines shook with mocking laughter. She was afraid of him. She was never afraid, no matter the circumstances. Valerie’s confidence, her trust in him was unyielding and he watched that confidence and trust shatter the moment he took a step forward.

VAL, RUN! Charon’s mind pleaded.

 _ **Why?**_ purred the dark voice. **_You will catch her before she reaches the elevator._**

"Please!" he screamed as moved closer. "Do not do this to me!"

_God damn it, STOP. STOP MOVING YOU WEAK, FUCKING MONSTER._

Valerie stood tall as he loomed over her with a snarl, prey and predator. She cupped his face and repeated, "I love you. I’m so sorry."

_**You do not deserve her anyway. It is for the best.** _

His free hand grabbed the front of her shirt as he held the knife’s blade against her throat. She lifted her god damn chin for him. The dark voice and his mind battled, ruthlessness against desperation, conditioning against heart. His head felt as if it were literally splitting in two.

_**Kill her**. Save her. **Hate her**. Love her. _

"I...cannot...live... without you," Charon managed to croak. His cheeks were wet. _When did that happen?_

"You can," she assured him, a hint of confidence returned, “and you will...or this is all for nothing.”

"I w-wanted y-you," he cried as he pressed the blade against the same tender skin his mouth tasted only moments ago. “So...very...badly.”

Valerie wiped the wet streaks away from his cheek. Always loving, always trusting. "So did I. Still do, until the end. But the contract says otherwise. It’s not enough."

" _We_ will know it! It _is_ enough!" Charon shouted in her face, strength waning.

"...It's not."

_**Kill her, Charon.** Kill her and the contract will be void._

He screamed, feral and unhinged as he carved into her flesh and the dark voice fell silent, never to command him again.

Fresh, hot crimson splattered, against Charon, the walls, and Valerie herself, eyes wide with surprise. She sank against the wall with a wide, painful smile, reaching feebly for her gushing wound. Knife still in hand, Charon turned, stumbling towards the balcony doors. Part of him considered walking through them until he met the ground twenty stories below, but he had a better idea. Pointless?

_“I mean, probably.”_

He threw the blade, sharp and true, and it wedged perfectly between the two wooden doors before he shoved the broken table aside. A soft whistle floated over his shoulder, urging Charon forward.

 _Med kit, right wall,_ croaked what remained of his mind. _Super stims. Blood packs. Psycho._

His hands reached for the large, square plastic medical kit before he chucked it across the room, nearly blind with rage and despair. The kit slammed into the bobblehead stand beside Valerie, its contents scattering. She turned her head with great effort and reached for a super stim. Just beyond her reach.

Physical strength finally spent, Charon collapsed to his hands and knees before he crawled across the room, Valerie so fucking far away. The ringing in his ears grew louder and louder, deafening all other sounds. He could barely make out Valerie saying the words, “I...love...you...so...much…”

A roar erupted from his lips, raw and animal-like as he reached his dying love. The floor around her seemed an ocean of dark red, her shirt now sick and opaque instead of sheer and lively. He grabbed the super stim with a shaking hand as he fell against her still-warm thigh. Looking up, he hoped that somehow this was a nightmare and Valerie smiled down at him with adoring eyes before her head flopped against her shoulder.

"NOOOOO!!!" Charon screamed, as mortally wounded as his smoothskin. He jammed the super stim into the side of her neck and despite his vision now a useless blur...the wound began to knit.

In his near blindness, Charon was forever grateful that Valerie once insisted they learned first aid in pitch darkness. A useless skill he once thought, but one that allowed him to intubate four blood packs, two in each crook of her elbows, before his hands felt around for the last and final attempt to save his smoothskin’s life.

_Almost there. Hang on, Val. Just a few more seconds.._

His fingers curled around the Pyscho syringe so tightly he feared he broke it. He tore open Valerie’s shirt, not at all how he imagined he ever would, and slammed the thick needle directly into her heart, piercing the breastbone with ease.

He wished for his own death, in exchange for hers, freedom be damned. The great ghoul slumped to the floor, his skull crashing into the bloody tile as all went black.

* * *

Charon awoke with a pained gasp. The suite was dark save for the moonlight pouring in from just beyond the open balcony doors. An eerie silence hung in the air along with the acrid stench of copper. A wave of nausea washed over as he reached out for a hand in the dark but found none. He was in bed, mostly undressed, though he didn’t know how he got there. No blood remained on his hands, arms, or face. Someone had cleaned him up. The last thing he remembered was--

“Valerie,” Charon whispered as he sat up, his head pounding with the effort, dreading the moment when his eyes would settle on the body of his beloved, lifeless between the door and bobblehead stand.

But she was not there.

He looked around the suite that resembled a war zone more so than a high-end penthouse room, a clean set of his clothing at the foot of the bed. A bucket of dark water and a soiled rag hung from its rim sat nearby. The water was still relatively warm as he dipped his hand into it. Whoever did this also moved Valerie’s body, and did so recently. Charon grabbed the pair of pants and pulled them on before he reached beneath Valerie’s pillow for the weathered 10mm pistol she kept there, a habit instilled by the ghoul. It was gone. He stood up on mildly shaking legs and stared out into the night before he walked towards the balcony. A hot, summer breeze engulfed him as he noticed a small figure sitting in one of the two chairs outside. The pistol lay on the table, safety off, along with two bottles of water. The sight held him in place, unsure if he was dreaming or in the real world. The figure gestured to the vacant chair but Charon did not move. It spoke instead, with a rasp in its voice not unlike his own.

“Are you a free man now?” Valerie asked. “Is that why you won’t sit down?”

Charon swallowed hard and sat down in the seat beside Valerie as she purposely avoided his gaze. Her long hair was still wet, slicked back and braided, and she was dressed in clean clothes herself.

“I, uh, hope it was okay that I cleaned you up,” she whispered. “Didn’t want to leave you soaked in my...mess.”

She’d seen all of him before, the aftermath of a particularly nasty squabble with a Talon Company death squad. Valerie didn’t blanch once at the sight of him as she tended to his many wounds, most of which happened to be near areas she only saw in his dreams and private thoughts. But she didn’t flinch. Not once. In fact, it was the first time she had flirted with him.

_“Aren’t I lucky to have such a handsome bastard on my arm and at my back?”_

The memory made his heart ache.

They sat in mutual silence for some time before it broke. She turned to him with sad, reddened eyes, her feet tucked beneath her. “Did it work?”

A thick scar reached across the entirety of her neck in a perfectly straight line, from one side of her collarbone to the other. He always was a perfectionist. Charon looked away, disgusted with his work. None of the anguish, for himself or Valerie, was worth it in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. Though the dark voice was silent, he was still unsure.

“Pick up the pistol, Charon.”

The ghoul reached over and picked up a bottle of water instead before he drank its contents and threw the bottle over the edge of the balcony. When he turned to Valerie again, she was smiling wide.

She reached for his hand as she whispered, "I can’t believe it work--"

“--Please don’t touch me.”

She yanked her hand back. He may as well have slapped her across the face with the shock painted on it. Part of him was angry that she went to such lengths and the rest was filled to the brim with shame; Shame that he couldn’t break through the contract’s binds on his own, shame he followed through with her command...and shame for what he was about to do.

"You made me," he began. “You made me _kill_ you.”

"I'm so sorry. I had to--"

"--Because you love me? You made me kill you out of _love_?"

“Yes.” Her voice was so small, like the rest of her. Charon stood up and stared into her green eyes.

"That isn't love," he whispered. “It was sick and depraved. What the fuck is wrong with you, Valerie?”

"Nothing under contract would be love either. I needed to be sure," she insisted, green eyes now wet. Her hands reached for her throat with a wince.

Charon stood up, staring down at Valerie. "And what about what I need? Did I really need to hurt the woman I love?"

Valerie didn’t answer. His chair scraped against the concrete as he stood up and walked back into the suite, flipping the light switch. A literal murder scene was laid out before him, and the copper scent hit hard as he gathered his things. Shotgun. Several boxes of shells, cleaning kit. As he strapped on his armor, he heard Valerie walk into the suite.

"Please...stay," she pleaded. “We can fix this.”

He didn’t look at her again. Couldn’t. If he did, he’d never leave, and he’d be forced to see her scar, listen to the rasp in her voice...it was too much to bear. He shouldered his pack, shotgun in hand.

“I can’t even look at you, Val,” Charon admitted as he stared at the door. “When I do, I just see you dead on the floor all over again. I’d rather remember the Valerie I used to know and love. Still love...until the end of my days.”

She didn’t try to stop him and for that, he was eternally grateful. When he reached the door, he heard Valerie call out, “Thank you.”

“What for?” he asked, his hand on the door knob.

“For saving my life, and not just today,” she replied.

Charon smiled for a moment. “You saved mine. I hope...this was worth it."

"I'd do it again," Valerie replied, her raspy voice hard. “Everything.”

“I know,” and Charon walked out of Valerie’s life.

As he walked toward the stairs, he heard the most painful wail of despair pierce the silence of the penthouse lobby. It was soul crushing, but not enough to stop him. Charon hoped this was the right thing...for both of them.

Downstairs, Roy lounged at the reception desk, his boots propped up as he leafed through a book.

"Where you off to, errand boy?" asked Roy, barely looking up as Charon walked past.

"I'm nobody's errand boy.”

Charon walked. And walked. He walked until he reached downtown D.C., super mutants and Brotherhood soldiers taking aim but never taking a shot. They feared him.

They should.


	2. Worn Out Places, Worn Out Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon arrives at a place he once called home, while Valerie leaves the only place she's ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING: Mild suicidal thoughts*
> 
> Hell yeah, thanks for the kudos y'all!! <3

Underworld was by no means the first choice of destination Charon thought of after leaving Tenpenny Tower and Valerie behind. Most wayward ghouls would jump at the chance of residing in a ghoul mecca. To him, all it brought was memories of hate, abuse, and absolute fucking boredom. His other choices weren’t much better, even Old Olney was briefly considered, and all would mean a solitary life eventually leading to suicide via his warm and trusted shotgun. The old ghoul knew himself well enough. Solitude seemed preferable, but not so much after the last eight months of his life. Valerie had left her mark on him forever. If he wasn’t preoccupied, sucking off his shotgun would soon appear a wonderful idea. He  _ had  _ to live now...

_ “...Or this is all for nothing,” _ Valerie told him just hours ago.

Charon balled his fists and growled under breath, “God damn it, Val.”

Downtown D.C. was a quieter place since Valerie gave it her ‘Lone Wanderer’ touch. Super mutants were few and far in between and the Brotherhood too concerned with Project Purity (and rightly so, in Charon’s opinion). The few who remained gave the old ghoul a wide berth as he walked through the ruins both above and below ground.

By the time he reached the Museum of History, afternoon had crept in, sticky and hot in comparison to the much cooler subterranean tunnels that snaked around the city. As he pushed open the exit doors of the metro tunnels with his good shoulder, taking care that he wasn’t followed, a millisecond of sharp, intense heat appeared at his collarbone. 

As Charon reached into the neck of his armor and picked out a still smoldering cigarette butt, Willow’s voice floated down from above.

“Shit, sorry ‘bout that, Charon,” Willow chuckled as she leaned over the edge of the wall. “Least it was you and not your pretty little tourist friend.”

He flicked the butt away and continued up the stairs with a grunt. He hadn’t thought about  _ this _ in particular after parting ways with his smoothskin. Most of Underworld’s ghouls were fond of Valerie and would certainly question her whereabouts. With Roy and Tenpenny Tower no longer a viable option, and the thought of working for Gob in Megaton a hair shy of insulting, all that remained was Underworld.

_ Here it fucking comes... _

Willow cocked her head as Charon approached the doors, even looking over the wall’s edge once more in search of her least hated ‘tourist’ and asked, “Where’s Val?”

“No longer my concern,” he grunted in reply.

Willow’s arm blocked the way into the museum as she peered up at Charon. “...She good? GNR says you both survived that Enclave business.”

“Since when do you care about Valerie, or any smoothskin for that matter?” he snapped.

“Since she went to bat for us ghouls and the rest of the Capital Wasteland degenerates. Barrows told us about that poison or whatever it was Eden wanted her to use.”

Charon avoided Willow’s question. “Move your arm or I’ll break it.”

“...I’d like to see you try.”

The two ghouls engaged in a silent standoff and when Charon moved forward, Willow’s laser rifle blasted a shot directly into his boot with a loud ZAP. He staggered back with a roar, the leather of his boot still burning, when the butt of that same rifle slammed into his gut. Laid out flat on his back, Charon stared up at Willow, who aimed down at him with a smirk. This was not the welcome he expected.

_ “I know we’re both loners, but we could always use more allies,”  _ Valerie once told him.

“Let me explain a few things to ya, big guy. For a hundred plus years, we’ve dealt with  _ you  _ beatin’ the living shit out of us at Azrukhal’s command. You’re not exactly a friendly face around here. Then Val comes stumbling in, super mutants on her ass, and buys your contract. You shoot Azrukhal in the face, Val gets big ‘ol heart eyes over it, and drags you out of our lives--” 

Charon made an attempt to stand up, only to have Willow kick him in the chin and on his back a second time. The old ghoul spat out a mouthful of blood onto his chest with a groan.

_ Definitely not a hero’s welcome... _

“--Everything’s peachy again,” Willow continued. “Now you’re back, alone, sayin’ she ain’t your concern anymore. I’m not buyin’ what you’re sellin’. So I’ll ask you one more fucking time, ‘else my next shot is  _ your  _ face. Where the fuck is Val? You do somethin’ to her?”

“She...freed...me,” he replied between breaths. 

Willow pulled her rifle away, her mouth agape. “Really?”

Charon sat up, rubbing his now tender chin. “Yes, really.”

“How?” Willow pressed as the doors opened behind her. Quinn stopped beside her, brows raised in surprise at the unexpected exchange between Underworld’s self-proclaimed sentry and the Ninth Circle’s former bouncer.

“What’s going on?” Quinn asked as he looked around. “Where’s the vault girl?”

_ Fuck my life,  _ thought Charon as he held his head in his hands. He could kill them both. They were unaware of the knife tucked in his boots.

_ “You can’t just shoot everything when you’re pissed off.” _

_ Watch me. _

“Charon here just said Val freed him and is about to tell us how,” Willow snarled and Quinn nodded in response, folding his arms as he stood in wait beside her.

“Got my attention,” Quinn murmured. “Let’s hear it. How’d the girl do the impossible this time?”

_ “Truth’s better than lying. If you die for it, at least you weren’t a coward. Are you a coward?” _

Charon sighed, knowing he may be living his final moments by being honest. Guess it was better than being a coward.

“She ordered me to...slit her throat,” he answered, his voice low and thick with shame all over again. He raised his hands as both Willow and Quinn took aim and added, “She’s still alive, back at Tenpenny. Go check if you don’t believe me, Willow can hold me at gunpoint until you return.”

Quinn and Willow glanced at each other before lowering their weapons.

_ “See? That wasn’t so bad you big baby,” _ Valerie’s voice cooed.

A rough hand was offered to Charon and Quinn pulled him to his feet with a strained groan.

“Why didn’t you stay?” Willow asked in a soft tone very much unlike her. Charon hated it and stared at his boots in silence.

“Don’t gotta answer,” Quinn insisted as he gave Willow a pointed look. “Come inside, I’ll set you up.”

Willow blocked the museum entrance once more, though her face was less hard this time around. “No one’s gonna be excited to see his mug again, Q.”

“I‘ll have a talk with Winthrop,” said Quinn before he turned to Charon. “No funny shit, or I’ll program Cerberus to fill ya with lead.”

Charon nodded, barely able to bear the pity and kindness. Valerie hated it too, whenever someone brought up how great her father was and how much he was missed. Few were aware of the late doctor’s coldness with his own daughter.

_ Valerie’s alone now because of me. Not even a distant father to dote on her when he found it convenient.  _ The thought made him sick to the pit of his stomach.

The faithful sentry opened the doors and Charon followed Quinn inside, into the gaping mouth of Underworld. Several wings had been refurbished in Charon’s absence, all spilling with new faces. He had never seen so many in all his time in the city. A crowd of ghouls and humans alike were gathered around a platform where a grifter ghoul once tried to hawk the wasteland’s version of snake oil known as Aqua Cura. Charon himself cured him of his greed weeks previously.

“Hamlin’s people took over Griffon’s stand after you and Val dealt with him,” Quinn explained. “Never seen so many smoothskins in Underworld before. Business is booming. Hamlin brought another thirty refugees in just the other night. Tulip’s been cleaned out for days, hence my scav trip you just interrupted.”

“My apologies,” said Charon.

Quinn waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it.”

Fawkes sat beside the crowd, keeping an ever watchful eye on their wards. The super mutant, freed by Valerie, of course, hopped down at the sight of Charon, their eyes searching for the vault girl in the din of the museum lobby. As Fawkes swooped down on Charon, likely filled with questions about what he’d seen and where Valerie was, Quinn intercepted with a gentle hand and a whisper in the mutant’s ear.

Another look of sorrowful pity before they returned to their post beside the crowd. 

Winthrop, Carol, and Greta stood around the same fire barrel that held the ashes of Charon’s contract, chatting away. No different than the fictional Cerberus nor its robotic counterpart inside the second set of double doors, the trio turned their heads as one when Quinn approached.

“What‘s  _ he _ doing here?” Greta asked with a sneer. “Come back to kill me because a fucking piece of paper told him to?”

Charon stopped dead in his tracks. This was a mistake, returning to a place that so obviously despised him.

“Greta, don’t start,” Carol chided.

“What’s this, Quinn?” asked Winthrop. Though the ghouls of Underworld had no officially appointed leader, Winthrop and Doc Barrows were understood to be the final say in the going ons of the city. They would decide Charon’s fate.

“Charon’s free of his contract...and without the vault girl. Where can we put him?” Quinn asked. 

Winthrop looked around for a moment before answering, “Might not be the best idea. Who’s gonna bunk with him? We barely have enough space as it is between the refugees and new residents.”

“I’ll take him,” Carol decided with a gentle hand on Charon’s arm. 

Greta stared at her wife before stammering, “You...you can’t be serious! That asshole was going to murder me!”

“Under Azrukhal’s command,” Carol reminded her.

“For what it’s worth,” Charon interrupted, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you...or anyone else here. I’ll work for my space.”

Even Greta seemed stunned by his apology, considering it was the most Charon had ever spoke within Underworld’s walls, save for his interrogation outside.

Quinn chuckled as he clapped Charon on the shoulder, “Damn right you will. We can haul in three or four times as much scrap with you around. Fawkes refuses to leave their post, says they gotta protect the refugees.”

Winthrop smiled and said, “Well, if Carol and Quinn vouch for you, you can stay. That all right with you, Greta?”

Greta sighed before she waved them forward, taking a drag of her smoke. “Whatever Carol wants.”

“Thank you,” Charon said to Greta.

She rolled her eyes. “Fuck off.”

Carol swatted at Greta’s arm and led Charon further inside the city.

“You got half an hour to settle in before we’re out,” Quinn called out. 

For the first time since he was nineteen, Charon replied, “Got it, boss,” of his own volition. 

_ That...felt good. _

He followed Carol up the stairs to her hotel, also expanded and refurbished since his last visit. After grabbing linens from a set of drawers, she led him to a room no bigger than a utility closet. In fact, it probably was a utility closet in its heyday but it had three walls, a door, and a bed even a ghoul as large as himself could sleep in with some minor gymnastics.

As Carol replaced the bed sheets she murmured, “I assume by the torment on your face that our Val and yourself paid a heavy price for your freedom. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Is she alive?”

“Maimed, but yes.”

Carol fluffed the pillow a bit before she turned to him and asked what happened. He told her everything, from Valerie’s kiss onward. It was harder to relive than he thought.

“I think you were too hard on your smoothskin. She loves you deeply, I can tell. Old women know these things,” said Carol.

_ Stop reminding me. _

“Don’t you have a son elsewhere to mother?” Charon snapped.

Carol rested her hands on her hips. “I  _ always  _ have room for another son. You’re here, aren’t you?”

He looked away, regretting his harshness. “I’m sorry, it’s...been rough. Without her.”

_ So fucking hard. _

She smoothed back what little hair remained on his head and the old ghoul choked up. “Let’s get you something to eat, hmm? You’ll need your strength.”

Charon looked up at her and whispered, “Thank you, Carol. I’m grateful.”

He sat at a table a few feet from his room. The two other ghouls sitting there scurried away in fear, one with a twisted arm clutched close to his chest, broken long ago and never healing quite right. Charon frowned. It was his doing. He’d have to make up for it somehow.

Carol stroked his head once more as she walked past him. “If you hurt my Greta, I’ll kill you myself. Am I clear?”

He smiled. “I’ll give you my gun.”

In a flourish, a full meal was set on the table before him and he ate in silence, ignoring the chatter around him. This could be home.

* * *

Valerie’s pen flew across a second sheet of paper as the caravanner tapped his boot impatiently. Roy stood watch nearby, hand on his side arm, as Bessie packed a week’s worth of food, water, and aid for Valerie.

“I ain’t got all day, kid,” the old caravanner urged.

“The second I finish this, we’re outta here. It’s important,” Valerie insisted. She still wasn’t used to the sound of her new voice and wondered if the ghoulish rasp to it was permanent.

_ At least the scar is, _ thought Valerie.  _ He left his mark on me forever. _

Bessie walked over to the vault girl, backpack in hand, and asked, “Are you sure about this, Val? Charon might come back...he just needs time to cool off.”

Part of Valerie hoped he wouldn’t. She wanted him to truly live and knew he couldn’t do it after she forced his hand to commit such a vile act.

“ _ That wasn’t love,” _ Charon had said. “ _ It was sick and depraved.” _

He was right. 

Valerie fought the surge of vomit threatening to spill and continued with her letters.

Roy snorted. “He ain’t comin’ back and Val knows it.”

“Roy!” hissed Bessie.

“What? No point in lying to the smoothskin,” Roy insisted.

Valerie stuffed the two letters into separate envelopes, sealing them both. On one envelope she wrote, “ _Failure_ ” and the other, “ _Hired_ _Hope_.” After stuffing both in a larger, manilla envelope, Valerie scribbled a note explaining the letters’ contents.

_ Carol, _

_ Please give these letters to Charon when the time is right. You’ll know when. Mothers know these things, right? Thank you for all that you’ve done. Please know that I’m well. I’m heading out West. One day, I’ll come back and tell you all about it.  _

_ Love, Val. _

She exchanged the large envelope with Bessie for her backpack and said, “Thanks so much, Bess. Send these to Carol in Underworld, please.”

“You ready yet?” asked the caravanner. “Time is caps--”

“--Add it to my tab,” Valerie snapped.

Bessie hugged Valerie tearfully as Roy laid a hand on the vault girl’s shoulder. “You sure ‘bout this, Val? Stay with us. You’re the only smoothskin I can stand save for Dashwood, and even he’s grating on me a bit.”

Touched by Roy’s extremely rare kindness, Valerie shook his hand with a sad smile. “There’s nothing for me here. Everything left in my suite is yours now...or Charon’s, if he ever comes back.”

“You got it, Val. Good luck out there. Kill a few bigots for us,” said Roy.

“Poor bastards will never see me coming,” Val replied with a nod to her sniper rifle.

“Atta girl,” Roy chuckled.

Valerie climbed onto the caravanner’s brahmin-drawn cart, her beloved Victory rifle in hand. As the cart pulled away, she watched Bessie press her face into Roy’s neck as he rubbed her back. 

She wouldn’t feel a kind hand at her back for a long, long time. 


	3. When the Levee Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon attends a summit between the residents of Downtown D.C. and the Brotherhood of Steel for a deal over water caravans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Graphic Violence**
> 
> Sorry in advance. You'll see why.
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments!! Can't believe people still read for this fandom sometimes (at least for FO3).
> 
> <3

December 24th, 2278; Seven Months Later… 

It had been decades since the Capital Wasteland experienced such a brutally cold winter, winds whipping between buildings and across the Potomac River. Many had died from the cold nights in the past weeks, unprepared or unsuited for such a change. Charon wondered if it meant the climate was adjusting to the fall of humanity, returning to its origins with freezing vengeance as he stared at the missing pinky finger on his left hand, lost not to time or ghoulification but frostbite, of all things.

Underworld was abuzz with excitement. Today, on Christmas Eve, was _the_ day. Following the unexpected death of Elder Owyn Lyons, a new Elder had risen to take his place in his daughter, the famed Sarah Lyons. She had agreed to meet with the leaders of Downtown D.C. to reach a final agreement over water delivery for all who resided there. 

It was Charon, of all people, who was asked by the Downtown leaders to approach the newly appointed Elder and bid for a meeting over water that was sorely needed. So the week prior, clad in a heavy leather coat and completely unarmed, Charon warily approached the Citadel, hands raised above his shoulders.

 _“Where’s Knight Ainsley?”_ asked a heavily armed Brotherhood soldier at the gates, using Valerie’s formal title within their ranks. It was the first time Charon had heard her name spoken aloud in several months.

 _“Out West. I’m here on behalf of the Downtown D.C. residents to see Elder Lyons or Paladin Vargas,”_ said Charon. _“We heard of Owyn Lyons’ passing. Our condolences. He was a fair man.”_

The soldier pulled off his helmet with a smile and replied, _“It’s Sentinel Vargas now. Come in, Charon. Good to see you again.”_

Thankfully, the Brotherhood hadn’t forgotten about Charon’s instrumental aid in all of Valerie’s ventures with the Brotherhood. It was he who activated the Purifier, saving the lives of both Valerie and Sarah Lyons. It was he, who carried them both to safety when they were injured, despite his own grave injuries. And so, the Citadel welcomed him with open arms...albeit a bit cautiously.

Winthrop paced and paced in front of the museum doors until Charon thought he’d wear a path into the tile floor. Quinn was no better, chain smoking beside a newly erected fire barrel in the center of the reception area along with Doc Barrows. Tulip hung on Quinn’s arm, for both warmth and assurance, Charon guessed.

He missed that.

Fawkes ambled over to the reception area and nodded in greeting. Charon returned the nod and the super mutant leaned onto the reception desk beside the old ghoul, the wood straining beneath their immense combined weight.

“Valerie would be proud,” Fawkes murmured. “This is all your doing.”

“It was Winthrop’s idea for the summit,” said Charon, ignoring the mention of Val and not wanting any credit.

“Were it not for you, the summit would not happen at all,” replied Fawkes, giving it anyway and not pressing further.

Hannibal Hamlin was due any moment to announce the Brotherhood’s arrival. It was just too damn cold for any ghouls to wait outside with Hamlin and the other human residents.

“I got a bad feeling about this,” Willow murmured beside Charon as she leaned against the large, circular counter. “It’s been awfully quiet these past few weeks. Not a mutie in sight. Not fucking one.”

Quinn gestured towards Charon and Fawkes with his still burning cigarette, “You have the both of ‘em to thank for that.”

“Not complaining, it’s just...something doesn’t feel right, you know?” explained Willow.

Charon looked up from his boots and said, “It’ll be fine.”

But the old ghoul felt it too, deep in his aching bones. It was horribly quiet out on the Mall. He only hoped the cold was too much for super mutants to bear, as it was for the ghouls. Fawkes usually complained of the cold after every sweep of the Mall.

The museum doors opened with a frozen wind and Charon nearly jumped from his perch, startling all who stood around him. Fawkes managed to catch his arm before he toppled to the floor.

“Maybe I’m a bit jumpier than I let on,” Charon admitted to them.

Hamlin walked in with a wide smile as he closed the doors behind him to preserve the warmth. “Greetings, gentlemen.”

He tipped his Lincoln hat towards Willow and added, “And ladies, of course.”

Willow rolled her eyes.

“The Brotherhood approaches. Everyone bundled and ready?” asked Hamlin.

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” said Doc Barrows as he pulled on a pair of mittens. “Any word from Reilly and her Rangers? They should be here, too.”

Hamlin shook his head. “Must be out on a patrol. We left a message on the terminal they have outside.” 

_Would feel better with extra muscle on our side,_ thought Charon.

He watched Tulip kiss Quinn’s cheek and his stomach turned a bit. It was tender and kind, much like the one Valerie pecked on his ragged cheek so long ago, after her father’s death. Charon had not left her side, snarling as if he had gone feral when the Brotherhood doctors tried to remove him from her room but never reaching for his shotgun, as Val had requested.

 _"He stays,"_ Val had said. " _I don’t care if he sees me."_

Still, Charon had turned his face to the wall as she dressed in a hospital gown. She lay a soft hand on his shoulder as he moved back beside her and she had kissed his cheek, soft and warm.

 _"Thank you...for staying,"_ Val had whispered. " _Thank you for everything."_

He should’ve told her then, that he loved her. It was not the right time, and so he kept silent.

As the Underworld leaders followed Hamlin outside towards the Washington Monument, Charon looked to Fawkes and said, “You should probably stay back. I’m sorry.”

“It is for the best,” Fawkes said. “I would not want things to go awry simply because of my presence. Good luck, my friend.”

They urged Charon through the doors and the old ghoul parted the crowd with ease as he made his way towards Winthrop and the others. Residents and visitors of both the ghoul city and the Lincoln Memorial followed their leaders like a great wave, swelling on each side of the grand monument. All wanted to witness history in the making, the kind that ended up as stories told around a fire centuries later. 

Bringing up the rear, Charon turned to face the museum crowd as it came to a stop. Willow’s words affected him more than he cared to admit.

“Stay back,” Charon told the crowd, his voice loud and commanding. “Don’t give them a reason to feel threatened. At the first sign of trouble, retreat to the museum and metro.”

“Expecting trouble?” called out a voice in the crowd.

_No need to cause panic, you’re just being cautious. It’s what Val would do._

“Better to be prepared is all,” Charon answered the faceless voice and countless others who remained silent. The crowd listened and walked no further. He caught up to Winthrop and the other leaders, taking his favored spot at the back. 

Willow turned to him and muttered, “Good call.”

“Thank you,” he replied. 

As the Brotherhood approached, Doc Barrows nudged Winthrop and said, “They brought the Maxson boy with them.”

“Is that a problem?” Hamlin asked.

“Maxson is a powerful family name within the Brotherhood,” Barrows explained. “He’ll likely become Elder one day.”

“Maybe it’s good they brought him, then,” said Winthrop. “They expect this summit to go smoothly.”

Charon remembered the young squire from his time with Val in the Citadel. He was a quiet, little mouse of a boy who always seemed to get in the way of things. More than once either Vargas or one of the Lyons would have to usher the boy away as he pestered Valerie for tales of her adventures. Charon always felt uncomfortable around children, save for the mayor of Little Lamplight. At least that kid was amusing.

 _Brave little shit, too,_ he thought. The boy had once told Charon to shove his shotgun up his own ass. Valerie had laughed until tears came.

The Brotherhood squad was larger than Charon anticipated and now more than ever, he truly wished Valerie was beside him. That feeling of dread would not fade away. If anything, it only festered.

Elder Sarah Lyons stepped forward, the young Maxson glued to her side as she shook hands with Hamlin first, then Winthrop and Doc Barrows. Her eyes found Charon and she waved in acknowledgment, which the ghoul returned in kind.

“Glad to see so many citizens out here,” said Lyons. “I wanted to show Squire Maxson what true diplomacy looks like.”

The Maxson boy stared at the ghouls with disdain typical to most Brotherhood members. The previous Elder Lyons had treated Charon well, as the current Lyons did, but a part of him always wondered if it was only due to Valerie’s company. A majority of the other Brotherhood soldiers certainly did not, whispering threats under breath whenever they walked past the ghoul, always out of ear shot from Valerie.

The wind picked up and the ghouls huddled closer together, causing a few Brotherhood knights to reach for their sidearms. Charon’s hands remained at his side, knowing better than to reach for the shotgun strapped to his back.

“Let’s make this quick before we all freeze out here,” said Lyons, rubbing her hands together.

“Agreed,” replied Winthrop, perhaps a bit too urgently.

The Elder cleared her throat and announced, “Citizens of the Mall! I, Elder Sarah Lyons of the East Coast Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel welcome all in attendance…” 

Charon looked away, surveying the area as the bureaucratic bullshit began. The cold bit at his face as a flurry of snow fell. The Mall itself was quiet save for Elder Lyons’ echoing voice. 

He thought he heard crunching footsteps in the snow banks just beyond the monument as he heard Lyons say, “...And I’d like to personally thank one ghoul in particular, Charon, for saving my life during the Battle of Project Purity and for facilitating this summit.”

“Go up there!” Willow whispered as she pulled him forward. 

Elder Lyons extended her hand. Charon didn’t expect this, the praise. As they briefly clasped hands, many in the crowd clapped and cheered. Few of the Brotherhood did and the ones who did seemed to do so out of necessity, not desire. Charon stepped beside Winthrop as Elder Lyons concluded her speech.

“Thanks for stepping up,” whispered Winthrop.

“Thanks for taking me in,” replied Charon in earnest.

Elder Lyons turned to Winthrop with a smile and asked, “Well, do we have a deal? Continue to keep the Mall clear of super mutants, with the exception of the one under your protection, and the Brotherhood ensures weekly water deliveries?”

“It’s a deal, Elder,” replied Winthrop as he stepped forward to shake Lyons’ outstretched hand.

The moment their hands clasped, a single shot rang out over the Mall and a spray of blood and brain matter fell upon Charon’s face, the young Maxson screaming at the gory sight.

_Oh, fuck—_

Elder Lyons slumped against Winthrop and the Mall erupted in chaos.

Super mutants poured in from all sides, firing into the crowds as they began to scatter, with the Brotherhood returning the heat with impunity, striking ghoul and super mutant alike. 

Doc Barrows rushed to the dying Elder as she went into shock, her eyes wide and searching. Winthrop pulled off his coat, shivering as he applied gentle pressure with it to her gaping head wound.

“Barrows, get her to the monument!” Charon shouted, pointing to the reinforced gates as he took aim with his shotgun. “Willow, Quinn, move the crowd inside!”

Willow and Quinn rushed off, a few super mutants falling in their wake.

As Barrows dragged Lyons toward the gates, a barbed wire barrier was thrown overhead, barely missing the ghoul. A massive super mutant overlord, nearly a head taller than Fawkes, strolled onto the Mall.

With a fire hydrant fixed upon the end of a metal pole in hand, the great mutant roared and swung their weapon. Charon pulled Winthrop out of the way just before the hydrant crashed into the concrete. Out of the corner of his eye, Charon saw the Maxson boy cowering near the body of a headless Brotherhood soldier.

“The kid, grab the kid!” Winthrop told Charon. “If he dies, the fucking Brotherhood will blame us!” 

Charon bolted for the boy, shooting a super mutant point blank in the face with a roar. Maxson screamed at the sight of him and tried to run but the ghoul managed to grab the boy, shielding him from a grenade blast with his own body. Shrapnel peppered the left side of his body, leather coat be damned. As his eyes searched for the quickest path to safety, Charon watched the great super mutant swipe Winthrop aside with his hydrant.

The mutant loomed over a broken Winthrop with a deep laugh. “They call me Shephard,” he growled, and brought down the hydrant with all his might, crushing Winthrop beneath it.

Despite Maxson’s piercing scream at the sight of bright red pulp and meat, Charon was rooted in place. It was another voice that spurred him toward the gates.

**_Move your god damn legs!_ **

Charon almost choked at the sound of the dark voice, stumbling to one knee but managing to keep the young Maxson out of harm’s reach as he rushed forward. Charon slid a few feet, dropping the boy as he took aim for a super mutant master. 

Maxson skidded beside him as one blast from his shotgun blew out most of the mutant’s neck. Charon regained footing, picking up the boy again and lurched ahead.

A Brotherhood soldier provided cover fire from beyond the monument gates, laser shots blasting mere feet from Charon and the boy as a super mutant thundered behind them.

Charon’s hand reached for the gate as he used his momentum to make a sharp turn, throwing himself and Maxson inside.

Doc Barrows barked orders at a shivering Brotherhood medic, nearly overwhelmed by their own injuries. Barrows huddled over Elder Lyons as her vacant eyes searched everywhere, seeing nothing at all.

“More packs, I need more blood packs here!” Barrows shouted. “She’s losing too much blood!”

The Brotherhood medic wearily reached for the med kit beside him, pressing his hand into a deep wound in his gut, intestines peeking out from between the medic’s fingers.

Charon dove for the med kit, tearing it open as he shouted above the gunfire, “Winthrop’s dead. There’s no fucking blood packs in here!”

“Fuck,” growled Barrows. “Another stim, then! Whatever the fuck is in there!”

Charon did as he was told, not out of obligation, but genuine desire to help.

Elder Lyons reached out her bloody hand as the young Maxson crawled over with a sob. The boy held her hand to his cheek as he begged, “Please, don’t die.”

“Y-you’ll...be...r-ready...,” gurgled Elder Lyons, “one...day…”

Her eyes rolled back and Barrows threw a handful of empty stims aside with a snarl.

“Is she…” Charon couldn’t bring himself to say the rest but he knew it was coming.

Barrows shook his head as he turned his attention to the dying Brotherhood medic. “She’s gone.”

“Am I gonna die?” cried the medic.

“Won’t lose you, too, smoothskin. Count on it,” assured Barrows as he jammed a stim into the soldier’s belly.

 **_Your hubris caused her death_ **, whispered the dark voice. Charon grit his teeth hard until the voice sank back.

“What should I do?” Charon asked.

“Go back out there and fucking murk ‘em!” snapped Barrows.

Charon turned back to the fray and made several connecting shots, providing additional cover fire as Sentinel Vargas rushed past. Maxson flew into his arms, the old soldier smoothing the boy’s hair.

Out on the Mall, more super mutants swarmed in. Charon charged ahead, making his way back towards the museum. His plan of keeping most of the crowd proved right, with only stragglers getting caught in the firefight. A bullet caught him in the shoulder but did little to slow his attack. In and out, a clean shot.

He dove for a dead Brotherhood grenadier, pulling his entire belt of grenades free. He yanked one pin free before swinging the six collective grenades into a nearby trench thick with mutants. Charon clasped hands over his would-be ears, protecting them from the near deafening blast as green limbs rained down on the pavement near him.

Taking to his feet, Charon saw Willow keeping back a mutant brute on her own. Red laser blasts melted the mutant’s armor plates into his skin, and it swung his crude axe with a roar. 

Charon almost didn’t see the gore encrusted fire hydrant coming down on him and he dodged Shephard’s hit before shooting four rounds into the mutant’s chest. 

It did little to deter the beast.

_Four rounds before reload._

“You cannot hurt me, ghoul,” Shephard snarled as he heaved the pole onto his shoulder.

“Watch me!” Charon bellowed as he aimed for Shephard’s knee and pulled the trigger.

As Shepard staggered with a fearsome roar, Charon made a run for the museum. Standing on the corpse of a super mutant knight, Willow waved him on before taking her shots.

The ground rumbled behind Charon, and he knew Shephard was only feet away. Willow also moved towards the museum entrance, her shots high, a few burning Shepard’s chest.

_The doors, just get to the doors!_

Charon leapt over the wall of the metro stairwell and turned, shooting his remaining shots at Shepard. All missed or bounced off armor plates.

Shephard slowed to a walk, laughing again, as Charon backed towards the museum doors, positioning himself in front of Willow as she reloaded. 

“Get inside!” Charon told her.

“No way, got one more MF cell,” she croaked.

Now within arm’s reach, Shephard reached out and snatched Charon’s shotgun out of his hands, crushing the barrel in his grip before he tossed the gun aside. Willow stepped out from around Charon before he could stop her and the fire hydrant swept her aside, slamming her into the wall. 

Charon reached for the knife in his boot, willing to die holding the line than giving up.

_This one’s for you, Val._

“It is time…for the rise of the mutant,” Shephard growled.

Charon threw the knife with all his strength as thundering steps rumbled from inside the museum.

The knife lodged in Shephard’s right eye as the super mutant screamed in agony. Charon leapt aside, Fawkes barrelling through the museum doors as they threw themselves and Shephard over the wall.

Charon ran to Willow, holding his breath. As she wearily sat up, Charon pulled her arm around his shoulders and lifted her to her feet.

“Inside, now!” Charon shouted. 

With no argument from Willow, Charon dragged her inside the museum. Injured and terrified, tourists and residents alike huddled together, trying to figure out just what the hell happened. Nurse Graves rushed from group to group, marking foreheads of the injured with a can of old paint as her assistants followed, administering aid to those marked...or offering brief words of comfort to those passed over for care.

“Graves!” Charon shouted above the noise. “Help me!”

The nurse turned, paler than Charon had ever seen her as she marched over. She took hold of Willow’s chin and shined a light in her eyes before she said, ‘Leave her here.”

“She can be saved!” argued Charon.

“I know,” replied Nurse Graves. “We don’t have enough supplies for everyone. The marked get urgent care, near death but salvageable with as little as possible. The unmarked are dead men walking or can wait. She’s tough, she’ll make it.”

Charon set down a groaning Willow near the desk before he grabbed Graves’ arm. “Winthrop is dead.”

Willow choked out a sob as she shoved her still intact laser rifle into Charon’s hands. 

The nurse grimaced. “Barrows?”

“Barricaded in the monument with some of the Brotherhood. Lyons is dead, too,” he explained. 

He watched Graves glance back at nearly two hundred patients. He knew that look. Hopelessness. 

“I’m going back out there,” said Charon as he walked toward the museum entrance, roars echoing over the gunfire and explosions. “Grab the able and bar the doors.”

Nurse Graves turned to a group of tourists, unharmed but shaken, and shouted, “You heard the big man! Help us block the fucking doors!”

Charon was out the doors, laser rifle in hand. A brute took aim but the ghoul was faster. Four shots and the brute was dead on the ground.

Fawkes and Shephard had taken their fight to the tarmac beyond the stairway, each struggling against the other’s strength. Fawkes failed first, their arm snapping backwards at an odd angle and they managed an ear-splitting roar before it was silenced halfway through.

Shepard’s fire hydrant collided with Fawkes’ head with a gut churning crunch, and they fell to the ground in a flurry of red-tinted snow. Their feet struggled, useless, when Shepard reared back, bringing down the hydrant onto what remained of Fawkes’ head. The super mutant fell still. Shephard pulled his hydrant free and turned to the chaos he created at the Mall’s center, arm stretched out in victory.

An overcharged shot from Willow’s laser rifle burned Shephard’s hand and the massive beast turned to face Charon with a snarl.

“Want to dance?” Shephard asked as he balled his injured fist, blood dripping from his eye socket.

Charon grinned, bloody and fierce, taking aim once more. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Shephard raised his own weapon when a hail of missiles and mini gun fire slammed into the ground feet away from the mutant. He lumbered away, throwing a car several hundred feet at the firepower’s source. Soon after, the super mutants cleared the area, leaving only silence, their dead, and painful screams behind.

Reilly and her Rangers had arrived late to the party.

Charon fell to one knee, exhausted. Only Willow’s laser rifle kept him upright as he heaved for breath. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, thanking every possible god and spiritual presence that he didn’t pull the trigger. 

“Fuck, we were too late,” Reilly said with a grimace. “What the hell happened here?”

“Super mutants have a new leader,” Charon said hoarsely. “Shephard is his name. They attacked the summit.”

Reilly clapped a hand on Charon’s arm and replied, “We’ll get ‘im back for this.”

 **_You failed...again,_ ** whispered the dark voice. **_A disgrace to your countrymen._ **

Quinn walked up the stairs with Hamlin’s help. At least fifty survivors followed, having taken refuge in the metro during the fray. Quinn’s leg was badly broken, but he would survive.

“Winthrop and Lyons are fucking dead,” Charon said. Reilly looked away with a wince.

“Get ready boss, we’re about to have some company and I can’t imagine they’re happy,” said one of the Rangers, nodding beyond Reilly and Charon.

The Ranger reached out a hand to Charon and he grasped it without much thought as he was pulled to his feet. 

“How do you walk around with balls like that?” asked the Ranger as she pulled off her helmet. Charon recognized her, the treasure hunter. She reluctantly traded with Azrukhal on occasion before the bastard’s demise.

“One step at a time,” Charon growled and the treasure hunter turned Ranger smiled.

Barrows wearily walked back towards the museum’s entrance, Sentinel Vargas hot on the ghoul’s heels as he carried the trembling Maxson boy.

“The Brotherhood should lay waste to this entire, godforsaken hole!” Sentinel Vargas shouted. “Ghouls and mutants are all cut from the same cloth!”

Charon reached out and grabbed onto Barrows’ shoulder as the doctor turned to shout, “Do you really think we planned this? To murder our own?”

Vargas reached for his sidearm.

“I wouldn’t do that, Vargas,” said Reilly, her brow raised as she slipped her finger over the trigger of her rifle. “There’s not many of yours but plenty of mine...and we’re still fresh in this fight. Go home to lick your wounds and we’ll do the same.”

Vargas looked to Charon with disgust and said, “I was a fool to trust you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you murdered Knight Ainsley!”

The ghouls and Rangers turned to Charon and only Barrows and three of Reilly’s Rangers managed to stop Charon from being reckless as he swung his fist.

“Say that again,” Charon said, his voice dangerously low. “I fucking dare you, Vargas.”

The Sentinel shook his head. “You get a pass for this, because you saved Arthur, but never again. If any ghoul or mutant so much as looks toward the Citadel, or any of our patrols, they will be shot on sight.”

“How is that any different than before?” asked Charon.

“Get your own fucking water,” said Vargas. “The Mall is yours. Congratulations.”

The Brotherhood turned their backs on the Mall and didn’t return for over a decade.

* * *

Charon sat on a cot as Doc Barrows pulled shrapnel from his very sore bicep. With no med-x to spare, he bore the pain like a badge of both honor and failure. He wouldn’t have wanted it anyway. The clinic was packed to the brim with injured ghouls. Nurse Graves and her assistants floated from patient to patient, checking bandages, switching out irradiated water baths, and sewing stitches. It was nearly three in the morning, hours after the failed summit.

It felt like years.

“What will you do without Winthrop?” Charon asked Barrows in a hollow voice.

The doctor pulled the last bit of shrapnel he could find, dropping it and the tweezers with a clink in the bloody pan. “My best. It’s all I can do, or any of us, really. You’re good to go, try to keep the wounds clean until they close up. Stand by an irradiated barrel if you can’t wait.”

Charon gave no response, not even a grunt of acknowledgement as he stood up and walked to his room. Reilly was waiting for him, chatting with the former treasure hunter at a nearby table outside his door. Sydney, that was her name. Both women stood up, tall and proud.

“Did I ever thank you for helping me and mine outta that bind last year?” Reilly asked.

“You thanked Valerie, as it was her idea to do so,” Charon reminded her. “I was just along for the ride.”

Sydney snorted and looked away. 

“Well, I’d like to remedy that, if you want it,” said Reilly. “Join my Rangers. I’ve been thinkin’ about an all-ghoul squad, since the real uglies don’t pay you all much mind. I want you to lead it.”

He didn’t have to think very long before he responded, “I’m needed here in Underworld. Quinn is out of commission until his leg heals up so the scavving falls on me.”

Reilly nodded with understanding. “You know where we’re at. Come by anytime if you change your mind.”

She left Carol’s place with a nod to both Greta and Carol but Sydney remained behind, studying Charon with growing interest.

“If you ask me, I think you’d be of more help working with us Rangers than scavving,” said Sydney.

“I didn’t ask,” Charon growled.

Sydney raised her hands in mock defeat. “Just think about it.”

Charon shook his head as he walked into his room. As he sat down on his tiny bed, the dark voice reared its ugly head.

**_You will always be a failure, Charon. You failed the vault girl and you failed your so-called friends. What use are you? Certainly not cut out to be a Ranger._ **

“Shut the fuck up,” Charon muttered under breath. Was it really still there, dormant and taunting?

**_If it were not for me, you would be dead. I do not need a contract to control you--_ **

“Charon?” asked Carol’s kind voice, sweeping away the darkness.

He glanced up with shaking hands. Carol stood in the doorway, clutching an envelope. “I...wasn’t sure when I was supposed to give you this but...now seems best.”

She handed him the envelope and closed the door behind her.

Charon looked over the envelope, the word, “ _Failure”_ written in a familiar script. Valerie’s handwriting. He tore open the envelope and stared at the words inside, a hint of warmth blooming in his chest.

_“All right, so you failed. At what, I don’t know, but my answer’s the same:_

_Keep going. Whatever it is, don’t stop. You’re the toughest bastard I know…the most stubborn, too. If you hurt someone, apologize and follow through on a way to make it right. If someone hurt you and I mean, ‘Violence against your person’ hurt you…rain fucking hell down on them._

_You can do this, whatever it is, big or small time._

_I love you._

_-Valerie”_

Charon read it over and over until the words were blotches and swirls. He wiped his eyes with his moth-eaten blanket before he rushed out of his room, still clutching the letter.

He caught Reilly and Sydney as they walked down the stairs outside of Carol’s Place.

“Reilly!” Charon called out and the Ranger leader turned with a grin. “I’m in...on one condition.”

“Let’s hear it,” she replied, crossing her arms.

“One ghoul squad for one smoothskin squad, to guard a water caravan Downtown,” he said before adding, “...and I choose my own squad.”

Reilly looked to Sydney, pondering for a moment before she looked back to Charon. “You got yourself a deal.”

* * *

Over four hundred miles away, Valerie stood at the edge of the Divide, holding a small package in her hands. She didn't know its contents and it didn't matter. A job was a job, and this one paid well.

A dying scavver lay at her feet and she stared down at him with a scowl. He tried taking her package, and she would be damned if her first delivery for the NCR failed. Still, part of her hated killing another just trying to survive. She would've shared what little she had.

 _"Kindness is weakness out here,"_ she heard Charon's voice say. _"You are far from weak."_

She smiled at the memory but it faded quickly.  Valerie needed a wall, an impenetrable fortress, if she was to survive on her own again. Before Charon, it was pure luck. Now she had the skills to back it up. All she needed was the attitude: cold, stoic, and brave.

"I need to  become _him_ ," Valerie said aloud to the fierce winter winds, and did not smile again for many years. 

She wanted to forget. It was only eight months of her life, after all.

But his voice never left her.


	4. Play With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valerie finds revenge and comfort, while Charon celebrates a victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: Minor suicidal ideation**
> 
> Thanks for your kudos and reading! Sorry (not sorry?) for the uber sad shitshow going on. 
> 
> It'll be worth it.

October 11th, 2281 - GoodSprings Cemetery, Nevada

The man in a black and white checkered suit pulled a beautiful, engraved 9mm handgun from inside his coat. Meant for her, of course. As he looked down on his captive, his breath fogged in the cold desert night. The Checkered Man was quickly edging out Colonel Autumn for the top spot on Valerie's shit list.

“From where you’re kneeling, it must seem like an 18 carat run of bad luck,” said the man, looking over his gun.

Valerie sometimes wondered if her life might end this way, staring down the barrel of a gun in the dead of night while some wannabe hot shot rambled on and on about how it was nothing personal, it’s just business...or just the way things are in the wasteland. Six men surrounded her; one digging a shallow grave, the obvious leader of the pack yapping his fucking mouth, and the others standing around them in a half circle. They had literally caught Valerie with her pants down. Couldn’t even take a fucking piss in peace. She stared at her bound hands, her shirt torn open at the collar. 

_“Piss your fucking pants, but never allow yourself to be vulnerable,”_ Charon had said long ago. 

Four years now, almost to the day she met him, and she still heard his voice on occasion.

 _Wonder if he still thinks about me,_ thought Valerie.

Valerie did give a hint of credit to the man in the suit. She never saw him or his goons coming, hence, the vulnerable piss. And when one of his thugs reached for her exposed backside with a leer, the suited man pistol whipped him. They were there for her parcel, a large platinum casino chip, and nothing else. She decided then, that if she somehow survived this mess, she would allow this sharp-dressed man a quick death over a more… lengthy one that became her MO since leaving the Capital Wasteland.

“Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not interested,” she rasped. A couple of the goons laughed at her boldness. Or maybe the rasp in her voice. “Shut the fuck up and shoot me already.”

Everything about this delivery was off, Valerie surmised weeks earlier, but the caps were too damn good to pass up. Deliver a casino chip to New Vegas? Easy. Too easy. She should’ve walked away. Charon would never have fallen for it. 

The Checkered Man aimed for Valerie’s head and she wanted to smile, but couldn’t remember how in that moment. Instead her mouth formed a hard line across her face, matching the thick scar across her throat.

_Final thoughts, Val. Make 'em good. Charon's hands. Yeah, that's a good one...rough and firm, but tender in his own way. Blue eyes. His mouth on your throat…_

The corners of her mouth lifted, however briefly.

“Truth is...this game was rigged from the start,” said the man.

Valerie’s eyes blew wide open, but not for the fact that a bullet was coming right at her within milliseconds. The Checkered Man confirmed her suspicions and he was in on it.

"Motherfu--"

The bullet was a hot point against her skull, followed by a searing throb and for a moment her body went rigid. She fell to her side, her brain struggling to comprehend what was happening to her body as rough hands dragged her through the sand and into the grave. 

“She’s still alive,” one of the goons said with regret in his voice.

The sand stuck to her eyes and cheeks as tears mixed with oozing blood. Dying was more terrifying than she ever imagined. It wasn’t instant, as one would hope, but drawn out and painful beyond comprehension. She wanted to die just to escape the fear overwhelming her in that moment.

"I'm...s-so...s-sorry," Valerie croaked, knowing Charon would never hear her. 

A second point of heat penetrated Valerie’s skull and then, there was nothing but a void of silent blackness. 

* * *

October 11th, 2281 - Ranger Compound, Downtown D.C.

Fall rolled towards a mild winter, a welcome reprieve from brutal storms in previous years. Reilly's Rangers had tripled in numbers since then, with more and more locals of Downtown wanting to help protect their forsaken land. The Ferryman and his Death Squad were the latest stars of Galaxy News Radio. It was all Three Dog could ever talk about. Talon Company driven from the Capital Wasteland? The Death Squad paved the way and sent them packing. An alien attack thwarted? The Ferryman paid them a visit. Clean water, for all in need? Wastelanders can thank them for that, too.

 _"Ya heard it here first, folks: Ain't no one fucking with the Death Squad. Don't bother with your prayers, slavers, 'cause the Ferryman came callin’ for ‘ole Eulogy Jones and left with a trophy,"_ Three Dog swooned from the radio. 

The Ranger compound erupted with cheers and sprays of old world champagne as the main doors opened, Charon leading his Death Squad inside with a bloody bundle beneath his arm. A pair of young grunts, one sitting on the shoulders of the other, stumbled over to the ghoul decked out in combat armor as black as the night sky, and poured the bubbling booze directly into his open mouth. 

“We’re home!” Roy Phillips shouted from behind Charon. ‘Did ya fuckin’ miss us or what?”

Quinn and Willow soon followed, dragging two duffel bags each of armor, bullets, and weapons. They shoved the bags into the arms of nearby recruits as Quinn said, “You know what to do. Get to scrappin'.”

The last of the Death Squad members, a tall ghoul named Barrett who still couldn't beat Charon in height or a fist fight, pushed his way past a wall of more decorated Rangers, his eyes locked ahead and ignoring the celebration around him. Murphy, the former chemist enthusiast turned personal medic to the Death Squad, leaned against a locker as Barrett rested a forearm above the shorter, wiry ghoul’s head. 

“You’ve returned to me,” said Murphy with a smirk as he looked up at Barrett.

“I promised I would,” Barrett replied before he leaned down and kissed him.

Reilly pushed herself through the throng and grabbed a hold of Charon’s armored shoulder with a laugh.

“Show us what ya got, Ferryman!” she shouted and another round of cheers were heard.

Charon marched over to the command center table as he pulled his prize from its gory sack and slammed the severed head of Eulogy Jones at its dead center with a triumphant roar. 

“How’s that for a trophy?” Charon asked the room with a ferocious grin and the cheers were louder than ever.

Various shots of liquor were passed around the room until every Ranger held a glass in their hands. Reilly climbed onto the command center table and held out her drink in a toast. She began with, “The Christmas Eve massacre showed us two things that fateful day: who our true enemies are, and—“

“—That ghouls do it fucking better!” Roy interjected and the room erupted with laughter and whooping.

A hand appeared at Charon’s elbow and when he turned to see a hair of soft, dark hair, his heart skipped a few beats. But the eyes beneath were dark brown and not green.

 _Not Val’s,_ Charon thought as his heart sunk deep into his chest. He wanted her here, now, more than ever. To share in his victory, to share a drink with...to share a bed with.

“Do they?” Sydney asked Charon.

Charon shrugged. “Do they what?”

“Do ghouls do it better?”

A smile. An invitation. One he never imagined receiving again, from anyone else. He wondered if any amount of time was enough to mend the hurt that still ached on occasion. 

_Almost four years to the day Val walked into the Ninth Circle and my life changed._

**_The best way to get over someone, well, you know the rest,_** whispered the dark voice. _**Kill what remains of Valerie….and be truly free.**_

For the first time, he willingly listened to the dark voice since its return. Charon leaned down and whispered in Sydney’s ear, “I can show you.”

* * *

December 31st, 2281 - New Vegas Strip, Nevada

Valerie’s survival of not one but two gunshots to the head was nothing short of a miracle. She was never the religious type, but when she woke up in Doc Mitchell’s home with a gasp, there was a moment of awe unlike anything she ever felt before. A massive cowboy-esque robot, Victor, had dug out her lifeless body from the shallow grave and dragged her to the town’s doctor. Eight days later, she stumbled back out into the Nevada desert with vengeance whispering in her ear. 

_“You were dead. I mean, dead dead,”_ Doc Mitchell told her. _“Honestly...someone up there must like ya.”_

_“I’ve died before. Maybe it’s true.”_

In the short time since her re-awakening, she encountered escaped prison convicts obsessed with dynamite, cruel men who likened themselves to Roman soldiers and crucified their prey, a flock of ghouls she helped launch into space, a child fortune teller who spoke of a looming war between a bull and a bear, a ghoul dominatrix, and a self-proclaimed King of both rock and roll and Freeside. It would’ve been unbelievable had she not actually lived it.

Three other wayward souls (well, maybe two and a half) had joined her in her quest for revenge, searching for answers of their own. The Lone Wanderer was no longer alone. A sniper, Craig Boone, who was easy on the eyes but lost in sorrow over the death of his wife. He spoke less than Charon did, which Valerie did not think possible. Still, she caught him eyeing her in silence often, gifting her with a smile if she looked his way. A cheery eyebot, E.D.E., who spouted words of their beloved Enclave creator and didn’t know its way home. An old, Mexican gunslinger ghoul turned mechanic, Raul Tejada, saved from a batshit super mutant who called herself Tabitha. An odd squad for sure, and more company than Valerie had ever kept since leaving the vault. Together they survived and together they searched for reasons to keep going in a world that just didn’t give a fuck about any of them.

It led them all to the New Vegas Strip, where Valerie would find the Checkered Man known as Benny to the locals. As the squad approached the armored, guarded gates of the Strip, a desperate fool attempted to jump the gates and was quickly rendered into a human sieve courtesy of several securitrons’ worth of automatic gunfire.

“You guys got your passports ready?” asked Valerie while she dug into her pack. She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes, still not used to the long mohawk style she’d given herself weeks ago. “Getting shot to death is already crossed off on my Mojave Adventures bingo card.”

The old ghoul chuckled and said, “Got it, Boss.”

Boone held his passport up in silence. 

With their passports scanned, the Odd Squad walked onto the New Vegas Strip. A 24/7 nonstop party, filled with drunks, gamblers, and those hoping their luck would finally change filled the street, with the largest, gaudiest buildings Valerie ever had the misfortune to see surrounding them. 

_Too loud, too much color_...the dreariness of the Capital Wasteland better suited her.

A securitron paced near an eerily empty casino, a picture of a smoking cowboy gleaming on his display. He turned to Valerie’s squad and lifted an arm in greeting as he shouted, “Fancy meetin’ you here, friend!”

“We’re not fucking friends,” snapped Valerie as she walked past.

“Just makin’ sure you’re on your way to see Mr. House,” said Victor as he rolled into her path, more warning than reminder. “If you would follow me--”

Valerie pushed the robot away. “I’ll get there when I get there.”

His arm shot out, blocking Valerie’s way a second time and she looked up at the bot with a sneer as both Boone and Raul took aim. “Get the fuck out of my way before Raul turns you into a giant fucking toaster.”

Victor’s voice was an octave lower when he replied, “I wouldn’t tarry, ‘lil doggy.”

She reared her fist back but Raul’s scarred hand wrapped around her forearm. “Ain’t worth it, Boss. You got business to take care of so let’s get to it.”

Without a word, Boone pushed himself between Valerie and Victor, his blue eyes hard and cold beneath his beret. “Don’t bother her again.”

E.D.E. chirped excitedly, aiming several red lasers at Victor’s cowboy face. Victor straightened and rolled back, never turning away from Valerie and her squad.

“The Tops is further down the Strip,” Boone said, eyes still on Victor, as he offered his arm to her.

Valerie hesitated until Raul gave her a gentle shove and she walked, her arm linked with Boone’s, as Raul and E.D.E. followed.

“Don’t much like the look of this place,” Valerie muttered as a group of NCR soldiers pulled off their armor and jumped into a nearby fountain.

Boone gave her arm a squeeze as he replied, “Not really my scene either.”

Inside, the Tops Casino seemed the very epitome of what Valerie imagined for a true New Vegas experience: loud brass music, bright neon lights, and a whole lot of faux, macho posturing. The women were quiet and beautiful, the men vain and handsome, and the tourists obnoxious and greedy. 

_Typical._

A man in a well-fitted suit leaned over the counter in the Tops’ lobby as he leered at Valerie with a wolfish grin.

“He-llo, baby! Welcome to the Tops! What can ‘ole Swank do ya for?” he asked.

“I’m here for Benny,” Valerie deadpanned.

Swank laughed and clapped his hands as he walked around the counter, pushing through Boone and Raul before parking himself mere inches from Valerie.

“Benny’s busy, baby, but uh...I can make time for ya.” Swank reached out and stroked Valerie’s cheek with a wink. 

She grabbed his wrist, twisting it as she grabbed his neck and slammed his pretty face into the reception counter.

“The fuck did I do to you? Wait, are you the babe I met a few weeks ago, loved ya and left ya?” Swank stammered but Valerie pressed his face harder against the counter.

“Guards are coming,” Boone warned as he tried not to laugh. 

Valerie realized that for a moment...she wanted to hear it.

“If I was ever _unlucky_ enough to fuck you,” Valerie rasped, “I’d kill you, myself, and every single person in this fucking casino. I have personal business with Benny, so don’t bother protecting some asshole who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you or anyone else. I won’t ask again.”

“All right, all right!” Swank yelped. 

Valerie eased her hold and Swank straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. As the Chairmen guards closed around Valerie, he waved them away, his pride sorely wounded enough.

“Benny’s gettin’ ready for the big bash tonight,” explained Swank.

“He interfered with my delivery for Mr. House and shot me in the head for it. I’m here to take back what’s mine and maybe take something from him in return,” said Valerie.

Swank’s eyebrows raised. “He’s messin’ with the big boss?”

As Valerie explained herself and the events that followed Benny shooting her in the desert, showing Swank a handful of cigarette butts, Benny’s lighter, and a note Boone had found in Novac, Swank’s eyes grew wider and wider with the shock of it all.

Raul nudged Boone and when the sniper glanced at the old ghoul, Raul smiled. “It’s okay to move on, you know.”

“...I know,” said Boone.

“So when are _you_ gonna make your move? Or are you just gonna stare at her with sappy eyes every night?”

Boone stared at Valerie’s back and replied, “I’m not the only one who’s having a hard time moving on. I think she sees her ghoul when she looks at me...and it hurts her.”

“Do you see Carla when you look at Val?” asked Raul.

Boone shook his head. “They’re so different, it wouldn’t be fair to compare them.”

“What do you see then?”

The sniper smiled as Valerie shook hands with Swank, offering a genuine apology to him for her roughness earlier.

“Hope. I see hope.”

Raul chuckled to himself. “So do I, _hermano_. So do I.”

“I'll tell my boys to leave you be. Don't abuse the hospitality or our deal is squashed. Ya dig?” Swank warned.

“Yeah,” said Valerie, taking the key from his hand. “I dig.”

As the Odd Squad followed Val towards the elevators, they heard Swank shout, “Gotta dress to the nines for the New Year’s bash, 'else ya won't be allowed in. I’ll send somethin’ up to your suite!”

“What’s the plan, Boss?” Raul asked once the elevator doors closed.

A smile threatened at Valerie’s lips but it could not break the surface just yet. “I’m gonna shoot Benny in the fucking head.”

* * *

Valerie stepped out of the elevator, hitching up her sparkling black, floor-length dress as she jogged towards the Aces club where Boone and Raul waited, unsure if the outfit would help or hinder in her quest for revenge. 

_Of course Swank picks the tightest dress possible,_ thought Valerie. The silenced 9mm strapped to her thigh would sure help. It was a half hour to midnight and Swank assured Valerie the chaos of the yearly celebration would keep Benny in the dark until his final moments. 

Both Raul and Boone tugged at the bowties of their tuxedos, unfamiliar with opulent fashion themselves. Boone even wore his beret, though even Valerie admitted to herself that it matched well with the suit. She almost laughed but it came out as a snort of amusement instead.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said between breaths as she reached them. “This dress is a pain in my ass.”

Boone turned, his brow raised at the sight of her and said, “You wear it well.”

Both Valerie and Raul were a bit stunned at Boone’s words, considering most of his responses were grunts and nods.

“I...thank you? You both look great yourselves,” she replied, hating the flush that bloomed on her cheeks.

“I know you’re lyin’, Boss, but I’ll take it,” said Raul as he preened himself.

Boone held out his hand. “Ready, Val?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied, taking it. “Swank promised a table for us near the stage.”

Raul opened the door, waving Boone and Valerie ahead. “After you, lovebirds.”

Valerie scowled, knowing what Raul was up to. “Shouldn’t I hold the door for you, _Viejo_? I thought it was age before beauty.”

The old ghoul laughed and said, “You’re right,” before he walked through the doors, leaving her alone with Boone. 

“I hope you finally find what you’re looking for in there,” said Boone. “Glad to be part of it.”

“What about you?” she asked. “What’s in the cards for a retired sniper after tonight?”

Boone closed the space between them, closer than he had ever been outside of combat and first aid scenarios. He was handsome as handsome could be, Valerie knew it. She wasn’t blind. And still her mind wandered elsewhere, across the country to a different pair of blue eyes. 

It was easy to be sad...

“I’ll go wherever you go, Val,” Boone whispered. 

...to be angry.

“I’m probably going to Hell,” she rasped.

“I might have a table reserved there already,” said Boone as he opened the doors. “It’ll be nice to sit with you. Let's practice at this one first.”

Another smile threatened and Valerie shook it away.

Inside, they found Raul chatting with a server who led the trio to their table near the stage. A few patrons, forced to stand with few seating arrangements available, glared at Raul in particular. It did not faze him one bit. Having two deadly assassins at your back certainly helps. Moments later, a trio of drinks appeared at the table along with a note.

_I don’t know what you and yours drink, baby doll, but it’s on the house. Thanks for takin’ out the trash. Always loved a girl willing to play dirty._

_-S_

Raul took a sip of his drink as Valerie looked over the note and said, “You know, he isn’t the absolute worst. He believed me without much of a fight.”

“You just had to rough him up a bit first,” said Boone and downed his drink in one swallow.

“Boss had to show him who’s boss,” Raul laughed.

Valerie sipped tentatively on her drink, leaving half behind to melt in the ice.

 _"Have enough to calm nerves and keep appearances,"_ Charon’s voice whispered in her mind, " _but not enough to impair. Are you listening to me, Smoothskin?"_

“Yup,” Valerie muttered to herself and drank the rest.

The lights dimmed and the brass band stopped playing as Benny himself took the stage to massive applause. Boone reached down by Valerie’s leg and turned her chair toward himself with a jolt.

“Don’t turn,” said Boone. “Keep that element of surprise, like you did with the Khans at Boulder City.”

Her hand reached for Boone’s on its own, squeezing hard, as she heard Benny’s voice once again. The sniper nodded and squeezed back. 

“You can do this, Val,” he said with full belief of his words.

“Hey all you cool cats, what’s happenin’?” Benny asked the roaring crowd. “Let’s rock this joint right into 2282!”

The brass band exploded with sound and over a hundred bodies moved onto the dance floor with spinning skirts and fancy footwork. In different circumstances, Valerie would enjoy the ambience, despite being more of an introvert. It’s not often she attended one of the wasteland’s most coveted parties. 

_Charon would probably look great in a tux,_ she thought, hating herself for thinking of him. _Get a fucking grip, Val, you’re here to snuff Benny, not fantasize about someone who probably doesn’t even think of you anymore._

Raul stared at the stage, noting Benny’s movements to Valerie. “Dead front and center...left side, near the brass...back at center…”

It was difficult to pay attention between intrusive thoughts and the music ringing in her ears. If she simply walked up to Benny or even approached the stage, he could bolt or shoot her first. Again. Talk about embarrassing. But crammed in beside other bodies on the clusterfuck of a dancefloor? 

Valerie looked to Boone after Benny paraded onstage for some time and asked, "You dance? We could get close to the stage and I--"

"--Nope," Boone replied, killing the idea immediately.

"Of course not," and Valerie looked away as she crossed her arms. 

_"You really made a fool of yourself, didn't you?"_ Charon's voice said, though that was him chastising her for tumbling down from an unsteady ledge at Evergreen Mills years ago, blowing their cover entirely.

She felt just as stupid as she did then. 

Raul stood up abruptly and held out a hand to Valerie. "We can dance, míja."

“What about your bad knees?” Valerie teased as she rose from her chair, thankful for flats. Combat boots were considered earlier, but would surely stand out.

“I’ll live. It’s just one dance,” he assured.

Boone stood up as well. "I’ll cover beside the stage, in case he makes a run for it."

Raul took Valerie's hand and pulled her onto the dance floor with a twirl and a laugh on his part. Valerie was surprised at how good a dancer he was. At least, he had Butch DeLoria beat as far as dance partners went.

"They teach you to cut a rug back in your vault?" asked Raul.

Valerie rested her hand on his shoulder as they danced, the ghoul's own hand a respectable distance from her hip. "They did, actually. Where'd you learn?"

"The best clubs Mexico City had to offer. Ladies loved my moves."

A smirk escaped and the old ghoul caught it despite Valerie’s efforts.

“What was _that_ , Boss?” he asked before laughing. “Haven’t seen you smile once since we’ve met!”

Valerie shook her head and couldn’t help but glance at Boone as he walked along the dancefloor’s edge. “The fuck is there to smile about?”

"Aye, go easy on Boone…he's holding a torch for you, if you didn't notice," said Raul as he followed her eyes.

"How the hell would you know?"

The old ghoul shrugged. "Told me so a few weeks ago, after askin' if I felt anything for you myself. Explained that you remind me too much of Rafaela… and you know, you're my boss. Never mix business with pleasure."

"I've been burned by the strong and silent type before," Valerie said, bitterness stinging at the back of her throat. "Not excited to try again."

"Still stuck on your ghoul, huh?"

"...Yeah."

Raul frowned. "Give Boone a chance. He's here right now, ain't he? You and him ain't so different: hung up on lovers long gone, best snipers I've ever seen… lost in this world, trying to keep your heads above water even though you’d both rather drown."

Valerie snapped her head up with surprise and Raul chuckled. 

“You think I didn’t notice that you and Boone both got some kinda death wish goin’ on? I’m old and I’ve seen a lot, done a whole lot more. I’ve been there myself...and you two are just too damn young to give up already.”

She glanced over Raul’s shoulder and saw Boone in the crowd. Another smile just for her, and a wave.

Benny strolled along the stage, playing the part of hype man well. “Ball’s about to drop! Get ready to ring-a-ding in the new year!”

Valerie rolled her eyes and Raul laughed, pulling her in for a brief hug.

“Benny’s eyein’ you something fierce, Boss,'' Raul growled into Valerie’s ear. “I’ll swing you out and you might still get the drop on him. Pistol’s on my left.”

Valerie’s hand reached into Raul’s jacket, her pulse pounding in her ears, drowning out the loud, brass music, until her fingers wrapped around the pistol’s stock. She searched for Boone, his hand now inside of his own jacket. He gave her a nod.

_Now or never._

Raul turned her out in a hard spin, his hand holding her steady as she pulled his pistol free, with Benny on the opposite end of its sight.

“What in the god damn--” Benny sputtered before Valerie squeezed the trigger.

The belly of his white and black checkered suit quickly became crimson and black as blood seeped through. Over the noise of the party, no one noticed the gunshot, even when Benny sank to his knees, clutching his wound with a gasp.

Valerie walked towards the stage, daring anyone to stand in her way. Boone met her there and for a second, she thought he would block the way. Instead, he fell to one knee and boosted her up onstage with a wide, handsome smile.

_He can smile for both of us._

Benny coughed up more blood as he fell onto his back, staring up at Valerie with utter horror. She was a ghost to him, the ghost of murder, misdeeds, and betrayal. She rifled through his checkered coat, pulling out both her coveted platinum casino chip and the very beautiful 9mm pistol that sent two bullets into her head. 

Trading it with Raul’s pistol, she aimed the gun at Benny’s forehead...and smiled as she pulled the trigger a second time.

Fleeting, but a smile nonetheless.

The music came to a screeching halt as people in the crowd screamed, realizing what occurred during their celebration. Boone held out his hand as Valerie turned, still grinning himself as he helped her down. She walked off the dance floor, silent and stoic once again. A few Chairmen goons approached her but Raul blocked their way with a snarl. No one moved to stop her again.

At the club’s entrance, Swank leaned against the wall and held out his drink to Valerie in a toast. “Guess this makes me the boss now. Ring-a-ding, baby!"

“Sure fucking does,” said Valerie as she walked through the doors. 

She couldn’t wait to get the hell out of that dress.

* * *

Valerie sat on the corner of her bed as she stared at nothing, still wearing the dress with its zipper stuck halfway down. It was enough to defeat her. E.D.E floated above her head, beeping softly, as sad as a little eyebot could be. She heard the door separating hers and the boy’s suite crack open but didn’t have the drive to turn her head at the sound. 

For all she knew, it could be Swank or one of his Chairmen with a gun aimed at the back of her head. She hoped they could shoot better than Benny did. Part of her wished for it.

_Just get it fucking over with, already._

“Val?” asked Boone from behind the cracked door.

“In here,” she replied, her shoulders drooping. Death would not come for her that night.

A warm hand appeared at her shoulder. She didn’t have the inner strength to look up and perhaps Boone realized it. He kneeled down on the floor beside her, his beret, tuxedo jacket and bowtie gone, with his clean white shirt unbuttoned to his chest.

 _Handsome,_ she thought. _So very handsome…_

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his hand drifting down her arm until he held her hand.

She shook her head. “Not really, no.”

“...Do you want me to stay?”

A smile. An invitation. One that could turn the tide if she allowed it and one she never imagined having with anyone else.

_"That isn't love. It was sick and depraved. What the fuck is wrong with you, Valerie?”_

Maybe this, what looked up at Valerie with true concern and care in that moment...could be love one day.

“Please,” she whispered, “please stay...Craig.”

Boone smiled wide and cupped her cheek as he stood up to close the door to his and Raul’s room. The old ghoul was splayed out on his bed, still wearing his suite as he raised his thumb in curiosity to Boone, who returned the gesture.

"Come 'ere, E.D.E.! You're bunkin' with me tonight!" Raul shouted from his suite.

E.D.E. zoomed through the door before Boone shut it with a quiet chuckle.

Valerie stood up as well, her back to Boone as she asked, “Could you unzip me?”

His hands were at her back and her dress pooled around her bare feet. When she turned, Boone made a point to look her in the eyes instead of her bare breasts. Her hands reached out and unbuttoned the remainder of his shirt and when she pulled it off his shoulders, she leaned in and kissed him. They held each other in silence, a clock somewhere in the room ticking softly. Valerie looked away as she climbed into her bed. It hurt to see blue eyes so closely again. 

"Could you turn the lights off?" she asked, her voice small. 

Boone frowned, still standing at the foot of the bed. "I don't want anything you don't want. We can sleep...might not have a bed this nice for a long time." 

Valerie glanced at him, trying to remember what it felt like to smile. It was not even a half hour ago that she did but it was more primal reflex than joy, but there was nothing.

"I just want the lights out is all." 

Boone smiled for both of them as he turned off the lights. It had to be enough. He smelled like clean rain as his hand reached for Valerie in the dark. His mouth on her shoulder blade, soft and kind. 

It had to be enough. 


	5. What You Are in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valerie and her Odd Squad destroy the Fiends while Charon and his Death Squad destroy the Talon Company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: Implied sexual assault, homophobia, intense gore/violence**
> 
> Thank you guys SO MUCH for the kudos and comments. Happy when y'all are happy <3

January 1st, 2282 - Ranger Compound, Capital Wasteland

There’s nothing quite like a hangover after New Year’s Eve, even for a hardened, battle-worn ghoul. Charon woke up hunched over the toilet bowl within his quarters and wondered how the hell he managed to get there in the first place. The last he remembered was going shot-for-shot with Barrett, whose alcohol tolerance was infinitely greater than Charon’s own, considering Barrett’s husband used to be an amatuer chemist.

_ Fucking...moonshine...never again, _ Charon thought.

He rolled onto his back on the tiled floor, shielding his eyes from the flickering lights above with a pained groan. The tile was cool against the bare, scarred skin of his back and he relished the brief, soothing sensation. Brief because only seconds later, Charon heard crashing and collapsing inside his quarters. Glass shattered, metal clanked against metal. He couldn’t be bothered with investigating the source. It had to be someone from inside the compound itself, as no outsider was foolish enough to attack him or the other Rangers directly. He had a creeping suspicion anyhow...

_ Bet I’ll find out in a minute. _

The door to the bathroom tore open and there stood a half-dressed and red-faced Sydney, clutching a paper in her fist.

_ Five points for me. _

“What the fuck is this?” Sydney shouted as she held out the crumpled paper.

Charon groaned and muttered, “How many times have I asked...do not come into my quarters unless invited--”

“--What the  _ fuck _ is  _ this? _ ” she repeated.

He sat up with a low growl and leaned against the wall. “A piece of paper...probably with some writing on it.”

Sydney threw the now balled-up paper at Charon’s face and it bounced off his cheek, landing in the bundle that was his vomit-stained shirt. He reached for it with some effort and coughed out a laugh as he smoothed out the paper’s wrinkles.

“A letter,” he explained, “from Valerie.”

“Has she been writing to you this whole time?”

Charon shook his head. It had been a few months since he read Valerie’s words of encouragement. He sure could use them at that moment. “She wrote it before she left and gave it to--”

He stopped himself and stared at Sydney with narrowed eyes.

“Why the hell am I explaining myself? Get out,” he growled as he stood up.

Sydney rested her hands on her hips. Charon  _ hated _ that. “You had that pinned over your bed.”

“I did, along with area maps and other items of note,” he snapped as he stumbled past her.

His quarters, usually meticulous, was now a warzone riddled with frustration and jealousy. Drawers were opened and their contents strewn about, boxes of bullets scattered, bed sheets pulled off the mattress. Charon looked over at the mess with a sigh, unsure of where to begin. He sat at his desk beside the bed and looked over the letter once more, a smile etching itself on his face. Sydney walked over and when Charon glanced up, she was near tears. He never smiled at her…

... _ But I can smile at an old letter. Fuck.  _

“Is that why you won’t look at me when we’re together?” she whispered. “Because you’re still in love with her?”

**_A head of dark hair from behind can be anyone you need it to be. You used her. Well done._ **

A chill appeared across his skin, quickly turning to a heated flush at his neck. He couldn’t look her in the eyes...because she was right. Despite not wanting to get close with Sydney or anyone else after the Valerie fiasco, she knew a fair amount about Charon and his mannerisms. She was clever like that; it’s what made her one of Reilly’s best scouts, and was what he admired about her most.

“It was  _ years  _ ago, Charon! She’s never coming back!” said Sydney, throwing up her hands in defeat.

**_She is right, you know...Valerie is likely dead and gone, bones bleached white by the desert sun--_ **

Charon looked away and the words spilled from his mouth before he could stop himself. “You don’t know that. Her home is here, with…with-”

Sydney laughed, hurt but trying to put on a brave face. "-With you, right? Home is where the heart is, and that heart's named Valerie Ainsley...the fucking Lone Wanderer."

Sydney looked away, wiping her eye with the back of her hand before she added, "And I can't even hate her. She saved me once, you know. Val was looking for the Museum of Tech metro exit but came out of the Archives exit by mistake. Thank God she got lost. I was cornered in there and she helped me without asking for shit all in return. I sent her to Underworld to restock on ammo and stims after."

Charon slowly looked up in disbelief. "She was searching for the lunar dish, for GNR."

Sydney balled up her fists as she realized the weight of her actions. "I sent her...to you."

He wanted to be angry, angry that his squadmate turned bedmate trashed his room in a fit of jealousy, angry at himself for both hurting Sydney and imagining that anyone could ever take Valerie’s place. This mess was his own doing and no one else's.

_ “If you hurt someone, apologize and follow through on a way to make it right.” _

“Syd, I’m sorry,” Charon began as he looked at her, giving his full attention. “This went on for far too long. I believed my feelings, for Valerie and for you, would change...but they haven’t. I’m...not sure if they ever will but it’s no excuse for what I’ve done. You deserve better. If there’s something I can do--”

Reilly opened the door to Charon’s quarters just as Sydney reared her arm back and punched Charon square in the jaw, hard enough that he saw twinkling stars as he blinked.

_ Yup. Deserved that. _

Sydney attempted to march past Reilly, but their leader was quicker and she grabbed Sydney’s wrist as she reached the doorway.

“I can’t have my crew beating the shit out of each other,” Reilly warned. “Save that for the enemy. Am I clear?”

“Don’t worry, Boss,” said Sydney as she yanked her arm free. “I’m fucking done with him.”

Reilly glanced between Sydney, Charon and the letter he held, and the state of his quarters before she nodded in silence.

“Donovan’s ready to start planning your scouting route for the Talon Extermination. Go see him,” said Reilly with a nod down the hall.

Sydney saluted and walked away. 

Charon let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as Reilly walked into the room, carefully stepping around the mess.

“Do I need to revise the rules about fraternization?” Reilly asked as she crossed her arms.

“No,” Charon grunted in reply as he rubbed his sore jaw. “As Syd mentioned, we’re done. It won’t happen again. Don’t punish Barrett and the others on my account.”

Reilly sat on his bed with a frown and reached for the letter in his hands. He gave it up without a fight, not wanting to hide anything from anyone again.

“Still miss her, huh?” she asked and Charon nodded in silent reply. “Is this what convinced you to join up with us?”

“It is,” he admitted.

Reilly smiled and pinned the letter over his bed again. “Val still manages to do good, even when she’s not here. I don’t blame you for still holding her close...but I need you here, understand?”

Charon nodded again.

“Will your squad be ready when Syd comes back? Jabsco is not an enemy to be taken lightly. You know this. I need you at the top of your game, not wrapped in dramatics and drunk as shit.”

“Won’t disappoint you, Boss,” he assured her.

Reilly gave his knee a rough pat and a grin before she left him alone to clean what remained of his mess.

* * *

January 27th, 2282 - Mojave Desert, Nevada

Valerie stared down the sight of her brand spankin' new anti-material rifle, the absolute apple of her eye. There wasn't much daylight left to give the menacing rifle a test drive, so she had to work fast, though she was in no hurry to return to Mr. House after their initial chat weeks ago. 

_ Condescending bastard. _

Boone lay on the rock beside her, studying the land through his binoculars as he did the mental math required of a spotter. 

"Honey, I hate to say this, but you're not gonna make the shot," Boone whispered. 

After a minor adjustment of her hand, she said, "Craig?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever call me honey again, I'll shoot you in the head like I did to 'ole Benny."

"...Noted."

Curled up at the bottom of their boots was Raul with E.D.E in his lap, and the old ghoul snickered as he twisted together a trio of wires peeking out from the eyebot.

"I can make it," Val said. 

"Hon-," Boone began but quickly corrected himself, "-VAL, it's close to a mile and a half away."

"I can make it," Valerie insisted. " _ Víejo,  _ tell him I'll make it."

Raul shook his head, frustrated. "I don't like what those Brotherhood guys did to poor E.D.E., backward ass motherfuckers…"

"Raul!" she hissed. 

He shrugged and whispered, "Yeah, I don't think you'll make it either. Sorry, Boss."

"Care to make a wager?" She asked, making her final adjustment.

The day's target was a Fiend leader, Violet, who paced across several walkways as Valerie tracked her movements. There was a hefty bounty for all of the leaders’ heads. 

_ Neck shot, it is. _

"500 caps, split between me and Boone--" 

"--If you make it in three shots or less," said Boone. He added in a lower whisper, "And whatever you want when we turn in for the night."

Her face almost betrayed her but Valerie couldn't help that her arm and thigh tensed, earning a grin from Boone.

"What do you boys want if I don't?" she asked. 

"Full course meal, on your dime, at the Ultra-Luxe. Wanna wear a tux again," Raul replied without hesitation. "Oh, and a night with Beatrix."

"You must be joking, after all the cannibal shit?" asked Valerie.

Violet slapped one of her dogs so hard it slammed against the railing and Valerie grit her teeth. 

Boone winced. "You're a braver man than I."

"I mean, it's not like they still cook people and I like a strong woman, 'else I wouldn't work for Val," Raul explained with a shrug.

"Val doesn't beat the hell out of us," said Boone.

Raul turned to Boone, his brow raised. "You had a black eye last week. Don't kink shame me,  _ hermano _ ."

"I already told you, I elbowed him by accident," she grated. It was less now, the rasp in her voice. The scar, thankfully, faded even less.

With E.D.E. tuned up and floating out of sight, the old ghoul crawled up beside his boss and looked into the distance, shielding his eyes from the falling sun.

"...You did get stuck with Tabitha. Explains a lot, actually," Valerie said. "What's your prize, Craig?"

"Same as my punishment, minus the caps." 

She grinned, so hard her jaw ached...right after she let out her breath and squeezed the trigger. Six seconds later, Boone's binoculars tumbled down the rocks and Raul was out 250 caps.

Valerie’s cheer was heard as far across the desert as the shot itself. 

* * *

January 27th, 2282 - Outside Fort Bannister, Capital Wasteland

Sydney was over a week late in returning to the Ranger Compound. She’d been late before, caught in a minor bind or two at times, but nothing she couldn’t escape or wait out. This time was different, Reilly deduced, and Charon’s Death Squad volunteered to lead the attack on the old fort. Reilly herself and three other Ranger squads waited for their signal, hidden nearby and surrounding the Fort. The moon hung brightly overhead. Charon had hoped for some cloud cover but there was no other choice. The longer they waited, the more likely they wouldn’t find Sydney alive.

“What do you see, Q?” asked Willow as she watched her friend lower his scoped rifle with a sigh.

“Talon’s got a Brotherhood soldier tied up in one of the tents. Paladin, most likely, maybe a Knight based on his armor,” replied Quinn. “No sign of Syd.”

Roy took a long drag of his cigarette before flicking the spent butt into a trash heap behind him. He cradled a Chinese assault rifle in one arm as he glanced at Charon.

“How the hell did you convince two different smoothskins to nail you before you fucked it all up?” asked Roy. “I’d never let either of ‘em get away.”

Barrett shook his head and growled, “For someone who claims to hate humans so much, you sure wanna fuck ‘em, dontcha Roy?”

Quinn and Willow laughed quietly as Charon ignored the dramatics, as requested by Reilly weeks ago. Roy really needed to shut the fuck up before the promise was broken. The last thing Charon wanted was to end up on his employer’s bad side.

_ Wouldn’t be the first time. _

“Maybe it’s ‘cause the Boss is packin’ and Roy doesn’t have much of anything left,” said Willow casually and the other ghouls stared at her as she shrugged, “What? Gals talk sometimes.”

“A smoothskin’s better than a poof husband, I’ll tell ya that much,” Roy muttered under breath.

Barrett dropped his assault rifle as he stood up. “The fuck did you say?”

Charon looked up from his massive weapon’s case, debating whether or not to stop Barrett from pulling out Roy’s intestines from his mouth. As much as he wanted Roy to learn the lesson he so sorely deserved, the mission came first. 

“Way over the line, Roy,” snapped Charon. “Barrett, fuck him up later.”

Willow scoffed and said, “No wonder Bess left your stupid ass for Michael.”

Roy waved their comments away as he reached for his pack of cigarettes and Barrett slapped them away before pinning the smaller ghoul against a concrete pillar by his throat. The larger ghoul smiled as Roy struggled beneath his grip.

“Talk about me all you want, you miserable piece of shit,” snarled Barrett, “but talk about Murphy again and I’ll skin what’s left of ya alive.”

“I said later!” Charon barked as Barrett dropped Roy to the ground. He looked to Quinn and asked, “How many mercs?”

“Fifteen, by my count.”

The Ferryman nodded. “Let’s bring that down to something more...manageable.”

Charon heaved the Experimental MIRV onto his shoulder before he stepped out into the night, falling to one knee for better accuracy. He looked down the sights as he heard his squad ready themselves for the fight behind him.

“Call it, Quinn,” Charon called out. The wasteland was otherwise silent until Charon heard Quinn’s voice and yanked on the MIRV’s lever. 

Eight mini nukes soared across the landscape, exploding into nuclear hellfire as the Death Squad and their Ranger brethren swarmed over Fort Bannister, a plague of their own making.

* * *

January 29th, 2282 - South Vegas Ruins, Nevada

It was likely one of Valerie’s most foolhardy and flat out dangerous ideas she had ever had, attacking the infamous Driver Nephi directly. The Odd Squad spent the better part of the day studying Driver Nephi’s behavior and that of his goons in preparation for Valerie’s attack. It was non-stop uppers and violence against a pair of slaves, forced to serve the group of Fiends in whatever horrid manner they demanded.

Boone tried in vain to convince Valerie that there was a better way. Raul even refused to help at first, citing that Valerie’s 'death wish' had gone too far for his liking. The old ghoul relented, not wanting to abandon her. Neither understood her insistence at dealing with Nephi one on one. 

How could they know that she learned from the very best the Capital Wasteland had to offer?

_ "Get up," growled Charon as he loomed over a convulsing Valerie. "Get the fuck up and try again!" _

_ Her fingers curled around the shock baton and she staggered back onto her feet as the effects subsided. Valerie darted forward. Charon ducked her first stab attempt before the back of his hand smacked across her face, splitting her lip as she slammed into the bookcase of their penthouse suite. Another stabbing shock to her ribcage. She couldn't even scream anymore.  _

_ "I'm not as fast as you!" she snapped when she found her voice.  _

_ "Adapt or die. Again!" _

_Charon_ _held his own shock baton out with a deadly grin and Valerie rushed him once more. She ducked as he stabbed, the baton brushing over her armored shoulder as she drove her weapon between his groin and thigh, one of the very few gaps in his armor. The ghoul fell to one knee with a groan and she cracked the baton against his jaw._

_ She looked over him with genuine concern as he gasped for breath, blood from her mouth dripping onto his chest. His eyes peeled open and he managed a smile as he reached out a shaking hand and wiped her bottom, bloodied lip with his thumb. Soft. Gentle. Kind. _

_ She almost kissed him that day. _

_ "Better. Again." _

Valerie had counted seven Fiends, including Nephi, plus the two slaves. After witnessing Nephi defile the male slave with a golf club, the other Fiends holding him down as Nephi did his worst, she could wait no longer. It was the worst thing she had ever seen. Neither Boone nor Raul commented as she emptied her stomach of its contents minutes after. Both had looked away, unable to watch the scene unfold themselves. She wanted to cry as she forced herself to eat again, knowing the artificially sweet cakes would help deter against the nastier after-effects of chems. 

Clouds drifted over the bright moon, concealing her in near darkness as she crept into Nephi’s territory. E.D.E. floated near her hip, his lights muted and chirps silenced. She paused near the slave pen, where the male slave had crawled after the assault, still bleeding from his wounds. Peering over the short and rusty metal wall, she saw him curled up in a ball, his eyes dead to the world as his body continued breathing. She tossed a Super Stim at the slave and it landed near his hand. When his head turned upward, Valerie held a finger to her lips and he nodded.

Three of the six Fiends surrounded Driver Nephi as he swung his club over and over again, each drive just an inch or two from the female slave’s face, who was bound and gagged. The others were out of sight from where Valerie hid. She turned back to E.D.E. and he floated into her waiting hands.

“Fly fast, shoot fast,” she whispered to the eyebot and one lone red light blinked in response. 

Valerie tossed E.D.E. high in the air before she stabbed a double shot of Psycho into her thigh. The chem rushed through her body, forcing her pupils into pin pricks of black, a welcomed side-effect as she pulled a set of night vision goggles over her eyes. She darted out as E.D.E. fired, armed only with Maria, Benny’s former side arm.

It was a massacre in the darkness. A lowly Fiend goon stumbled into Valerie’s path and his life ended with Maria’s barrel pressed into his cheek. Grenades and far away sniper fire came down like hail.

Driver Nephi turned with a scream as his golf club was torn from his hand, its metal head colliding with his own skull. As the Fiend leader looked up in a daze, Valerie stomped a combat boot onto his chest with a bloody smile, golf club in hand.

“Bested by the best,” Valerie rasped and she brought down the club onto his head again. And again, until Driver Nephi was nothing more than a bloody pile of tissue and collapsed bone.

Valerie tossed the bent golf club aside as Raul and Boone approached her, the two slaves meekly following behind them.

“So much for the bounty, eh Boss?” said Raul with a grimace.

As the Psycho wore off and her muscles cried out in both relief and desire for more, Valerie croaked, “I have a better idea.”

* * *

January 30th, 2282 - Fort Bannister, Capital Wasteland

A wounded Charon sat beside an equally wounded Willow in a small sniper’s nest, both smoking cigarettes in silence. Charon rested a boot on the severed head of Commander Jabsco. They watched as several Rangers hauled out Sydney’s body from within the Fort. She had been dead for several days now, before the Rangers had arrived for the rescue effort.

**_Do I even have to say it? It is your fault, of course. You broke her and it made her weak._ **

_ I’m well aware, thank you, _ Charon thought.

“You’re still bleeding,” said Willow, her voice soft.

Charon shrugged before he took a drag from his cigarette.

Barrett dragged the still tied-up Brotherhood soldier over to the sniper nest with little effort. “Boss? What do you want me to do with this one?”

Charon looked over the edge of the nest and replied, “Let him go. Make sure he’s unarmed.”

“Brotherhood wouldn’t let one of ours go,” Barrett argued.

“We are not the Brotherhood,” Charon replied before he leaned back into his chair.

He and Willow sat in silence for some time before she spoke up. “It’s not your fault. We all know that this job comes with great risk. Talons are tough bastards.”

He stood up, rolled the severed head onto the tip of his boot and kicked it upwards before catching it one-handed. “Not tough enough, apparently.”

“Charon,” Willow insisted, “it’s not your fault.”

He silenced her with a glare and said, “We all know that’s not true.”

* * *

January 30th, 2282 - South Vegas Ruins, Nevada

Valerie forced Cook-Cook to his blown out knees as his latest victim screamed from the bloodied mattress, watching the scene unfold in mixed horror and joy. Moments before, the fearsome Fiend leader was made a eunuch. All it took was a properly placed sniper shot, passing through both heads of Cook-Cook’s beloved brahmin, to make him careless.

With a fistful of his hair, Valerie held the same combat knife that earned Charon his freedom and her own death against Cook-Cook’s throat. There were no further words of glory or taunting...only sawing, cutting, and garbled screams of agony that gave way to choking and sputtering.

The bloodied girl crawled away, unable to stomach the act despite her hatred for her attacker. Yet, Valerie did not falter. Halfway through, she yanked back Cook-Cook’s head and grinned as the life drained from his eyes, the combat knife continuing its work. 

_ “How do I know when I’ve gone too far?” Valerie once asked Charon.  _

_ Charon drained his bottle of beer and told her, “What you become in the dark, when no one is watching, will show if you are still Valerie...or if you are a monster.” _

When Valerie turned, the severed head of infamous Fiend and rapist Cook-Cook in hand, the shock of her actions on both Boone and Raul’s faces told her what she was becoming.

* * *

February 2nd, 2282 - Ranger Compound, Capital Wasteland

Sydney’s funeral was a quiet, somber event that morning. The rest of the day, however, was far from quiet.

“I’m stepping down as leader for the Death Squad,” Charon said over his shoulder as he walked to his quarters. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey along the way. 

He would drink until all voices, good or ill, fell silent.

“The hell you are!” Reilly shouted at his back.

True to Charon’s command back at the Fort, Barrett provided a grand distraction as he threw Roy into the lockers with a snarl, the metal doors bending outward with the force behind the attack. There was an attempt by Roy as he stood up with a feral snarl but Barrett’s fist squashed that attempt and all others in his own defense. Reilly and several other Rangers rushed over to break the two quarrelling ghouls apart, all as Murphy watched with subdued delight while Willow explained Barrett’s actions against his fellow man.

Charon slammed the door to his quarters shut. Armor came off in pieces and remained where they fell on the tile floor, a trail of breadcrumbs to his bathroom. At the mirror, he stared at the vile wound over his heart, a fierce, diagonal cut from shoulder towards the center of his scarred chest. It was a parting gift from Commander Jabsco in a futile attempt to disarm Charon as they battled deep within Fort Bannister. The ghoul had discovered Sydney’s deteriorating body in a shower stall before the attack on Jabsco. Even now, remembering the discoloration and distortion of Sydney’s face, Charon’s mind was far away, roaming in the Mojave desert.

He held out the same knife that had given him the wound, the words  _ Occam’s Razor _ engraved on its grip. 

_ The simplest explanation is usually the right one… _

The knife carved deep into his flesh, mimicking the original wound on the opposite side. Charon grit his teeth at the pain but never uttered a sound. The bloodied knife fell into the sink with a clatter and the ghoul smiled at the  _ V  _ now carved over his heart.

He would love no other, for to love another would bring their demise.

Charon staggered over to his bed, the wound bleeding freely. He could not, would not die, because to die would betray Valerie’s true final command. But he would wallow in his suffering without his smoothskin and deserve every moment of it.

He pulled the cork free from the whiskey bottle and toasted Valerie’s letter pinned over his bed as he sat on the mattress.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Val,” Charon whispered to a girl thousands of miles away.

Another voice answered instead.  **_Drink and it will be easier to accept your failures. You are already everything you despise, everything Valerie would despise, so why stop--_ **

“Shut the fuck up!” Charon bellowed as he pelted the bottle across the room.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Willow came in before Charon could send her away. She quietly closed the door behind her and glanced at the broken bottle on the floor.

“Barrett broke Roy’s arm,” she announced. “Murph may have been a bit rougher than needed when he was setting it.”

“Not my problem,” Charon muttered.

Willow walked over, her hands clasped behind her back as she replied, “As leader of the squad...it kinda is.”

“I’m stepping down.”

Willow sat on the floor beside his bed and chuckled. “Reilly isn’t gonna accept it. None of us will, even Roy.”

“I don’t want it,” said Charon.

Her eyes fell on the wound over his chest before she sighed and leaned against his leg. “It ain’t up to you.”

“I know.”

Willow leaned her head back and asked, “Who are you talking to whenever you’re alone in here?”

“No one.”

She laughed. “You know my room’s next to yours, right? I can hear everything.”

Charon looked away as he answered, “The voice...of the person who wrote my contract, General Constantine Chase.”

Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t let that bastard win.”

She pointed to the wound on Charon’s chest and smiled.

“And when you can’t do it for yourself...do it for her...” 

Her hand reached up and held his. A hand in the dark, this one borne of kinship. 

“...Do it for all of us.”

* * *

February 2nd, 2282 - Vault 3, Nevada

Clad in Great Khan armor, the Odd Squad entered Vault 3, where the Fiends made their home. Boone and Raul dragged large sacks behind them, filled with sealed med kits, while Valerie held a bloodied sack of her own over her shoulder. 

“Who the fuck you think you are, comin’ up in here?” sneered a Fiend guard at the opened vault door. Several Fiends took aim at the Odd Squad.

Valerie shrugged and replied, “Just making a delivery for the bosses.”

“You’re late.”

“Fuckin’ NCR gave us some trouble, you know how it is,” said Valerie.

The Fiend guard looked over the sacks for a moment before she said, “Lemme see.”

Raul and Boone dropped their sacks without hesitation, not fighting it when the Fiend removed a med kit from Boone’s sack.

“Help yourself,” said Raul, his voice cool. “Our treat.”

The Fiend eyed Raul with suspicion and snapped, “Since when do Khans take in ghouls?”

Raul laughed. “Since I saved Papa Khan’s life,  _ puta sucia.” _

“Go on, open it,” said Valerie, suppressing her own laugh at Raul’s insult. “Have a taste of our newest shit.”

The Fiend stared at the Odd Squad as she opened the kit, expecting the worst. It was filled to the brim with rare chems. With a smile, she waved them through, not bothering to check Valerie’s sack. As they were ushered through the vault’s recreation and living areas, Raul and Boone passed out med kit after med kit.

At the center of the vault’s living quarters were three prisoners huddled in a large cage. Valerie studied the room while Boone doled out the remainder of his med kits. 

Raul leaned against the cage and muttered, “ _ Oye, ¿alguien habla español aquí?” _

The female prisoner raised her hand and the old ghoul looked to Valerie, who nodded when she noticed no Fiend had perked up hearing Raul speak in his native tongue.

_ “Vamos a matar a estos hijos de puta. Habrá explosiones, así que prepárense. ¿Comprendido?”  _ Raul explained.

The woman nodded with wide eyes and pulled the two men imprisoned with her closer to her corner of the cell. The old ghoul laughed and banged on the cage bars with his fist.

“You know you want this,  _ chica!” _ said Raul.

“Quit flirtin’ with the fucking prisoners!” Valerie snapped as she grabbed Raul by the collar of his armor and dragged him away.

“Can’t help it, Boss. Her skin is so  _ smooth _ ,” he said with a feigned leer at the woman. 

Boone rolled his eyes, whether to keep up their guise or his actual response, Valerie wasn’t sure. He hadn’t spoken with her much since she killed Cook-Cook. The sniper would still come to her bed at night but instead of his warm breath at the back of her neck, she felt his spine against hers. Raul, after his initial disgust at the act, remained unchanged. If anything, he admired her ferocity and performed his job of lining every single med kit they brought into the vault with explosives with great amusement.

“Motor-Runner’s waitin’ for ya in here,” said a Fiend goon with a nod down the maintenance hall.

“Let’s not keep the man waiting, boys,” said Valerie.

Motor-Runner, the last surviving of the Fiend leaders, sat on a self-made throne of bones, tires, and the severed heads of his enemies. Two mangy dogs lay on either side of him, growling as the Odd Squad approached. The sight made Valerie a bit sick inside and she stopped in the doorway. Her chest tightened as she reached for her throat with a shaking hand.

_ Is that what I am in the dark? _

“You aren’t him,” said Boone’s voice in her ear. “Not even close.”

“It’s about goddamn time! Tell your Khans if they can't keep a steady supply, we'll find someone who can,” said Motor-Runner as he rubbed his hands together. “Now, whatcha got for me?”

Raul gently shoved Valerie forward and all doubt melted away, even if it was just for a moment. He and Boone followed close behind, his hand casually reaching into his back pocket as if to scratch an itch.

Valerie held out the bloody sack with a smirk and Motor-Runner raised his brow. 

“What the fuck is this?” he asked her.

“A gift,” said Valerie as she handed him the sack and stepped back again as Boone wrapped his hand around hers. “Took me a few days and I  _ did  _ have a better offer at one point...but I thought you’d appreciate my effort more. It’s not always about the caps.”

“It’s  _ always  _ about the caps,” said Motor-Runner as he reached into the sack and pulled out Violet’s severed head, an explosive charge hidden inside it and the others. He stared at it for a moment before he looked to Valerie, dropping the sack at his boots.

“Surprise,” Valerie deadpanned, flashing the doomed Fiend the palms of her hands in mockery.

Raul fell back as Boone pulled Valerie away, squeezing the detonator from his back pocket in his hand. Motor-Runner and his hellhounds exploded in a spray of blood and gore as the severed head and med kit explosions rocked the vault to its very foundations.

The Odd Squad looked at one another, painted head to toe with crimson, and laughed together until tears came.  Killing Benny had made Valerie famous on the Strip. Killing the Fiend leaders earned her infamy among all who crossed the Mojave.


End file.
